Die Into Life
by KhamanV
Summary: AU: In the wake of the Incident, the world has gone horribly wrong. Now, some of those who knew the island find themselves struggling with a strange, distant future and a still-relentless Charles Widmore.
1. Prologue: Regenesis

(note: This story will contain spoilers to the end of Season 5 and one upcoming event down the line will have its roots in a spoiler report for season six. This event will not be highlighted as to not draw attention to the possible spoiler. (it shouldn't actually spoil anything, but I don't want to trouble anyone with it) It will not be the story's nature to contain spoilers otherwise, and yes, this is a purely speculative AU fic written for fun in the wake of an actor's cast off line about Widmore in the future.)

_**Die Into Life**_

_"Of pale immortal death, and with a pang  
As hot as death's is chill, with fierce convulse  
Die into life" ~ John Keats, 'Hyperion.'_

_Prologue: Regenesis_

They left Benjamin Linus for dead, a hole in his chest and his blood pooling in the sand. His breath did not come any longer, and no blink came to flick the fly that rested on his face. It waited. He was still the island's, down to the base meat and blood, for that was all he would be in moments. The fly rubbed its limbs together, tasting the air, tasting the drying salt on the man's slack face. It froze for a moment, iridescent head cocked in its alien, incomprehensible way, and then tried to leave. Flies do not know time as humans do, and its sense of time told it that its life was threatened.

The island does not know time as humans nor flies, and the insect's attempt was not to be. It was life, however small. It was needed.

The fly trembled, very slightly, its brief existence cut to even crueler lengths. And then it fell still.

Within the man, other trembles. Tissue reconnected and was refreshed, the muscle structure was assessed, tightened, made supple once more. Internal organs cut by fatal violence began to knit together – the heart pulsed, dry of live blood, a muscle memory to test it and ensure its power. His flesh trembled, then wove itself whole. A lung finally collapsed at the activity, held together this long by mere dint of not having breathed after the shot that tore it. The body absorbed the failed organ, then regrew it. Through it all, friction in the veins, a tingle in the congealing heart, activity to mimic life until life itself was wholly restored. The kidneys and liver, not the bones, were taunted into fresh erythropoiesis – new blood to replace that which pooled underneath. His cells were being rewritten, refreshed. His DNA was examined, compiled, and left fundamentally unchanged.

Beneath closed lids, eyes now freshly moist began to flicker as if dreaming. They oozed tears flecked with black dust.

~*~

_He looked down at himself, at the white linen shirt and the brown linen breeches. Old clothes, like what they used to wear before the barracks. These were clean and fresh, soft. He could touch them, the rough weave under his fingertips like braille. Not a dream? Then what? He was dead. He had welcomed it, a job completed, a life well wasted in service. So what brought this crawling sense?_

_ Benjamin looked up, saw a gap through the trees to a beach, and walked towards it._

_~*~  
_

_ This was the statue then, in its heyday. He gaped up at it. Tawaret's curiously masculine form – did she honor one of her dark mates by being in this body? - faced the featureless ocean. In each hand, an ankh. He knew she was hollow in the leg; as the Sphinx held chambers deep within, so did she. This was a thing he had never seen, could never have imagined. She was majesty and horror. He had never known how she had come there, nor what made her into the ruins he knew better._

_ At her heel sat Jacob. He was dressed in similar linens, but the shirt was black. The straw-haired man watched him with that sad, still expression he'd worn just before Ben had stabbed him. At his hesitation to approach, Jacob raised a hand to beckon him. "Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you." A weary smile. "I wouldn't dare."_

_ "What is this?"_

_ "A memory."_

_ "Not mine."_

_ "No."_

_ There was a large, smooth rock near the foot and Ben sat on it. Questions piled in, rage, hate, fear, loneliness. Guilt. His hands still remembered the shape of a knife. He sat quiet instead, his face as blank as the stone. Jacob watched him. The sun did not move. There was no time in a memory._

_ "He attacked you to be absolutely sure I was dead. He knows how I work, he saw what happened when you killed me. Well, he got most of his wish. I am dead, Ben, but I'm also here. That's the price for life. I need you alive, and I will be with you." _

_ "No."_

_ "Unfortunately, Ben, in this there is no choice I can give you. I wish it were otherwise." His face was expressionless despite the sorrow Jacob put in his words._

_ "I wanted to die."_

_ "Everything will eventually. You'll get your desire. But right now, I need your life more. We have much to do. At least time will be on our side." He stood and walked towards Ben._

_ Again. "No." His voice began to tremble._

_ "I'm very sorry. But you have to wake up now." Jacob reached out a hand and laid it on Ben's arm. "We'll talk again."_

_~*~  
_

Muscles flexed and jumped, an arm flexed as if jerking away from hot steel. The heart pumped again, no longer a dry, electrically induced heave, but moving real blood. Benjamin Linus inhaled a sharp, quick breath, filling his chest and stretching a new lung to the point of pain. His bright blue eyes flew open, a dead fly fell from his smooth, refreshed face. The breath exhaled into a cry of denial, a woeful scream that mocked the joyous call of the newborn babe.


	2. Steel Beach

_1._

_Steel / Beach_

_~Later, Saturn orbit_

"Good morning, Mr. Widmore. The time is 0730. Earth Date is August 7th, 2311. The ISX will open in 90 minutes. Reminder: WLC assets rose .4% to close at 442sk per bit. Profits are expected to rise today with a slight dip during mid cycle. The corporation council has sent a public statement of pleasure on your behalf. You have four appointments today. Would you like to review?"

_chime_

"Thank you. Attendants will arrive with your breakfast momentarily. Namaste!"

Charles growled mildly at the console. Experience with it did not lessen his distrust, nor the itching, constant presence of the subdermal patch they had grown in him to enhance the network connection. Enhance. Feh. He trusted none of it, only his own mind and his own, carefully selected advisors.

Well, and of course, the one. It had been difficult to catch up on three hundred years of history, but as he had been promised, the corporation provided. The corp was mother. The island was distant, unforgotten father.

He threw the covers back and placed his feet on cushioned, warmed floor. Wrapping himself in a thick and heavy robe, he ignored the sumptuous display of the outside in favor of the scroll of numbers that poured across a holoscreen on the far wall. It told him every second of yesterday's transactions – nothing he didn't already know, but a fresh mind would be able to assess irregularities. The Indioasian corporations still headquartered on Earth had started a short-sell ploy to attempt to undermine certain commodities and eke a little bit more profit for themselves. Widmore sneered at the concept. Money and minerals. Short sighted. He still had his eye on more.

The door hummed softly and he beckoned to it. Two smooth, nearly featureless people soft-stepped into his quarters bearing a tray between them. Fresh bread, cheese – synthetic, as was the bread's flour, as were the people – and his one real morning luxury. True coffee. The plants were exorbitant to clone and maintain in the hydro labs; it had come out cheaper to smuggle the genuine from home. So he did, with no qualms whatsoever.

The staff left the tray, bowed fluidly, and left. They were more than capable of human speech, capable of emotion and logical miracles if you believed the programmers (and he didn't), but Charles found them uncanny and had ordered the option turned off. The cyberethicists in the corporation council had winced at the command but raised no formal objection. Why would they? Corp law had upheld his right to control the corp, and for an archaic son of a bitch, he'd kept his moves sharp. The PR team covered the rest, and who were the androids going to tell?

The door hummed again, his first 'appointment.' Charles grunted as he sipped his coffee. His eyes never left the scroll of numbers. Outside the 'window' – in actuality a display that reflected the correct external view – the station's artificial light flickered and shone off of the dust and debris of Saturn's most distant rings. It was a sight tourists flocked to Cronus Station to see, and it was a sight utterly lost on the now-timeless corp CEO.

"Come."

The man glided into the room, hands clasped loosely in front of him. At some point in the last century, he'd lost the last face Widmore had known of and taken one that he'd claimed was more familiar to himself. _"You can still call me John, though. That'll do just fine. Hell, call me whatever you want." _ John, then. A greying, grizzled face smiled atop a modern black suit. Smiled too much. No longer bald, as Charles had remembered. Had adjusted to, the face of a dead man now the face a clearly alive one. Curling salt and pepper hair instead of smooth skin and a scar-marked face. "Good morning, Charles."

"John."

The man in black's smile widened and he cocked his head politely as he gestured towards the numbers. "They're backing off already, got a notice at the start of the midnight shift. EU-Tannis bought them out, and now all the north African manufacturers have shut down temporarily to reorganize."

"What's that corp know we don't?"

"Mm. Not sure. Someone's heading the play, I can tell you that. Something's going on down there."

"It'll cause a local upset. I don't like that. Have we any eyes in the area?"

"Just the one set. I've already sent notice to watch out for anything unusual."

"We're due, dammit. Overdue."

"It only ends once, Charles. It didn't end then, it'll come soon enough. We'll catch up to him." Jacob. He had been promised the island back – not by Jacob, but this one. Delivery was running behind for multiple reasons, and as much as John had been a loyal friend, he felt irritation at the slowness of fate. Cryo sleep and Hanso's tending and reconstruction over centuries, and still when he awoke, it was status quo.

"Dammit. Bad enough it was an island. Now, really, it's the whole miserable planet."

Comforting smile.

"You know damn well who's going to push the revolt. Damn well. She won't miss an opportunity like this."

The smile flexed imperceptibly, a moment's ice covered by a quick blink. "We'll be able to use it. Don't worry."

Charles grunted, then ended the scroll of data with a spat command. He finished his coffee and thrust the plate aside. "Toast, John? Not for me, damnable fakes."

The man in black bowed his head a little, humoring Widmore's caustic opinion. The synthetics were perfect, as flavorful and nutritious as the now-rare originals, safer than the rejuvenators the man doted on, but there was no telling Widmore that.

"No thank you, Charles. I already ate."

~*~

_~Earlier, Earth_

"I ain't heard word one about what we gonna do next. Sure, I'm staying. Where the hell am I gonna go?"

"Dude, don't yell at me, alright?" Hurley continued to dig. The sides of the hole were uneven, but the location was perfect; a sweetly leaning banyan tree at the edge of the beach whose dipping limbs looked as if they were pleading. The setting sun would be framed beneath the arch formed, a phoenix of horizon's fire for a dead princess. Hurley understood Sawyer's rage – in his mind, he was sometimes still Sawyer even though he knew better – but the anger the man used to cope was beginning to get on his nerves.

There were still others up the beach, regrouping after the death or departure of all their leaders. Were they still Others at this point? Hurley had begun to have the sense that they weren't They'd all made a choice.

Well, maybe Sayid hadn't. The hole they were digging wasn't for him, but it didn't look good. Jack had stitched up what he could, and Richard swore that if the island intended for him to live, he would, but there had been no time, no time. They'd had to leave, and they'd left the bleeding Iraqi on the beach. He'd succeeded at surviving the return to 'now,' but doing much more was a mystery left to them.

John Locke had vanished with Ilana and a few others in tow right after Ben had been killed – what the hell was that all about? Jack, Kate, the Kwons, they all had something to go back for. The rest of them didn't, or claimed so. Hurley felt a pang of guilt at his choice to stay, at abandoning his mother and father. Well, they had each other, and he was just an albatross. He was tired of feeling sick and chased by ghosts. Least on the island, everyone had the same problem Least on the island, he didn't have to lie. Sawyer – James – had stayed. No discussion, none was really needed. Sayid, for as long as he lasted. Miles leaned on a shovel, face empty. He'd helped dig for a while and then had given up. He hadn't said a word in two hours or more. Frank was up the beach, trying to help reorganize. He sounded like Jack, almost, but without the pithy chants of 'live together, die alone.' Everyone else was gone or dead. No time.

Hurley wondered what sort of world the rest had gone back to. Maybe his mom and dad weren't out there after all. This time, the sky had stayed that funny color for a long, long while and Richard's face had been pinched tight. Hadn't stopped him, though. He'd taken everyone who wanted to try to leave to the Orchid station and this time, Richard himself intended to turn the wheel. The others had taken his last orders with something like shock. Richard leaving that way was tantamount to a heresy.

"Aw hell, that's deep enough. She won't know the difference." Ford's voice told a different story, that he would dig forever if it meant that he might look up from the grave and see Juliet sitting there smiling at him. His hair hung in his face like a woman's veil, streaked with dirt and grime. He looked up at Hurley, and then beyond him, his face hung in shock.

"I fucking _hate _this place!" Snarling, he threw the shovel down into the grave and turned away.

Feeling suddenly sick, seeing Miles's gaze fixate and then widen slightly, Hurley turned to see what was going on behind him.

"Oh, dude. Dude, anyone but you."

"For what it's worth, Hugo, I'm inclined to share the sentiment." He leaned against a tree, a dead man now not quite so dead. _Like Locke?_ Locke had been strange, driven. Ben just looked tired. He kept a hand on his chest, where Hurley had seen him get shot.

~*~

_The shotgun was in Ilana's hands. They hadn't known her name yet, that came later, but she was like a lion of vengeance. God, she raged. They'd come back in the middle of a confrontation, Sayid slung between them like an offering, sky aflame with weird, purple light. Ben had lied, someone screamed it as if it were news. It was what he did, but she was aflame anyway._

_ John Locke had said nothing when she threw herself at the island's dark goblin. Just stood there by the fire outside the foot where everyone had started to gather. "You son of a bitch!" she screamed into a blank face. "Admit it! Admit what you did!" But Ben remained silent. His gaze had followed the shotgun and his lips had been tight. Sometimes he glanced at Locke._

_ They held like that, an impasse, for a long while, her wanting his answer, him not giving it. Richard looked pained. Jack was pale, useless, silent. Sayid, still conscious then, watched with glazed interest. It would be a fine last sight for the dying man._

_ Finally Locke spoke again. "Yes, Ilana. It was him."_

_ Ben stared at Locke, his expression one of sharp betrayal, then nodded imperceptibly. Locke smiled as if he'd won something he deeply wanted._

_ The sound of the shotgun tore the sky._

_ "What do you know? The bastard had a heart after all," she said, dropping both Ben and the shotgun into the sand. "I think I shot him in it." Then she had thrown up in a fit of grief – for Jacob, not for Ben - later passing out. Locke ordered her carried away._

_~*~_

"Oh, man." The memory was fresh. The blood that drenched the shirt Ben still wore was less so. Underneath the hand, Hurley could see clean skin through the hole the gun had left. He was pale, his hair stuck up in wild, sand-strewn snarls. His face was unlined, fresh, like new skin under a sunburn or a scab, but his eyes were lidded. They didn't stare quite so much, and while his face made age a hard guess, his eyes looked like they'd seen an eternity.

_He looks like that Richard guy now, kinda. _Hurley swallowed.

"Had a good stare?"

"Go to hell, Gollum. She dies, but we get _you _back. Ain't no fuckin' justice anywhere." James refused to look at him, but nor had he fled.

"I think I got a look at hell, actually. It looked like here." He gestured down the beach, towards the ruined foot. "Who are you burying?"

"You don't know?" Miles broke his silence. His hands fiddled with the shovel. "You really don't know."

"I've been mostly dead. I may have missed a few things."

Nobody said anything for a long time. Finally, Miles pointed at a small, fragile bundle wrapped in a tarp. Wisps of long blonde hair escaped it and drifted gently in an ocean breeze. At the moment of the blast, a fragment of life had been left in her, only a fragment. Her last breath had exhaled even as the screams of fear had dwindled into shock at the toss through time. It had been enough to bring her corpse home, unlike ill-fated Charlotte. It had been enough to twist the last dagger in James' heart.

Ben's face fell further, a slack expression of childlike sorrow. "No," he whispered. "Oh, no." His brow wrinkled. "Juliet."

_"Don't you say her name!"_ James flung himself at Ben, the day's rage piled up into one final storm. Ben took it, falling back and down when the first punch landed. He took the rest quietly. He never even looked up at his attacker. Just that same expression of woe. Hurley didn't know what made him more nauseated, the force of the blows or the look. The lips burst under pummeling fists, the pale, renewed face cut up once more. A cuff on the ear that surely caused Ben a ringing sound. Finally, James fell back, landing on his knees in exhaustion. "You never fight back. Takes the fun out of it." He spit on the sand. So did Ben. His was bloody.

"That's the point." Still the same dull whisper. "Do you feel better? You can beat me more if it'll help. I don't care." Jesus, Mary, Joseph. Hurley watched with frightened awe. Was Ben's lip _healing_?

Miles sat down, draping the shovel across his lap. "Well, we're truly screwed up now. Hey, least we got another pair of hands to dig when Sayid goes, right?"

"Wha-" Ben didn't finish the word. His eyes unfocused, then focused again. His head tilted, and his expression became serene. "That won't do."

He got up smoothly, as if he hadn't just undergone his latest brutal beatdown, and strode beyond Miles to where Sayid lay in either sleep or death's approaching coma. "Won't do at all. We need him, too." His voice lacked its normal sardonic drawl, the cadence of his words unfamiliar.

Hurley passed a look with Miles. Miles shook his head. Hurley shrugged, then watched Ben reach down and touch Sayid's face with alien gentleness. "There. Give him a little time. It won't work as quickly this way," he said, as if he assumed anyone knew what he was talking about.

Then he fell artlessly into a heap, unconscious.

"Well, that's different," Miles said. His voice held no surprise. "Yep. Just another day on Craphole Rock."

"Somebody should probably tell the other guys he's alive."

"Yeah, I'm not volunteering for that job, Stay-Puft."

"Both of you shut the hell up. Get him laid out right in the shade. If we're stuck with the little son of a bitch, no point in giving him a fucking heat problem or something. Can't answer squat with his brain fried."

"He'd probably just heal from that too, dude." Two cuts and a bruise were rapidly disappearing. Unbelievable. He moved to pull Ben into the lee of another close banyan. "Uh, what about -"

"We'll bury her at sunset. Shut up and leave me alone for a while." There was no meanness in his voice. He just sounded tired. Hurley considered reaching out to pat his shoulder, then thought better of it.

~*~

With Miles' help, the pair got Ben under the tree. He was shockingly light, his clothes hanging more loosely than Hurley remembered, and as he rested his face still seemed as dead as when he laid on wet, reddening sand. Until Ben began to dream. Then he cried out, frightened screams, and he curled into a defensive ball.

Without a word exchanged, with only the strength of a look, the three men agreed to not ever bring it up.


	3. Shadow of the Torturer

_2._

_Shadow of the Torturer_

They told Sayid Jarrah of how he had come to live and be healed. He listened, but did not believe nor care for the source of the miracle. He turned them away, asked them to leave him alone to think while they tended to dead Juliet. With hesitation, they did. Hurley lingered the longest, but didn't ask what was clearly on their minds. _Don't kill him while he sleeps._ Not yet, they needn't worry. He had questions, too.

Instead he sat next to the curled, dreaming form. His shadow added to that of the tree, casting the resting place into darker shades. His arm rested atop a bent knee, his face towards the setting sun in the half-hearted way he honored Mecca now. Allah had taken Nadia, there was little left he wanted from Allah. He didn't care what the imams would have thought of that denial.

She would have been so disappointed in him, his Nadia. In the wake of her death he had himself turned to death – blaming Benjamin Linus for this was only excuse. In the end, his decisions were his responsibility. In denial of this he had shot a child. Regardless that he knew the face of the man to come, he had shot the child. That weighed on him. He had not believed he had such cold in him, feared the moment when he would decide whether or not to pull the trigger. Finding himself in the past had added a madness to him, a sort of fever that now lessened. He was calm now, hate tempered into distant, callous observation. He would not kill the sleeper.

Not yet.

Another moan came from the restless form. Sayid nodded to himself as he watched the small, shivering figure next to him. _Yes, Benjamin. I am quite sure you have much to be restless over. Is it guilt? Or torture for you in your dreams? Do you have that much capability?_

_ Perhaps you dream of hell._

Benjamin's eyes opened as if responding, and turned up to his. They widened slightly, no fear in them, just recognition. His lips parted, then closed again. He turned his head around, examining his surroundings, the tree he rested under. "I don't remember how I got here," he murmured. His voice was raspy from waking thirst. "And aren't you supposed to be dying?"

"We're all dead and this is hell, Benjamin."

"Explains so much." He pulled himself into a seated position, bracing himself for a wince of pain that didn't come. "Will there be little fiery imps just out of reach to taunt me with water, or are we going for total nonexistence?"

Sayid picked up a canteen James had left him and sloshed its contents. "Is it true?"

"You're asking me. You people never learn." Ben ran a hand over his pale, uninjured face and then turned away, looking at the edge of the water. The three men were there holding their quiet memorial, the tallest of them cradling the tarp. The grave still waited underneath the other nearby tree. "Is what true?"

"They tell me that you healed me."

"I did _what?_" Benjamin's head instantly whirled back to regard him, cocked in sheer disbelief. The lip curled, then pursed. He looked down, eyes narrowing. "Son of a bitch."

That convinced Sayid more than Hurley's earnest explanation. Hurley did not lie, as a rule. Yet what he had described seemed unbelievable. Ben clearly agreed, and still... "You did. And you do not remember."

"Mm. May I have that canteen?"

Sayid handed it over, peering at him as if he were a particularly interesting bug. "You are still damaged, then. You move, you act, and you do not remember."

"Sure." Ben uncapped the dark green canteen and took a swig, glanced at Sayid, then glanced away again. "Go with that."

"What is going on, Benjamin?"

Rather than answer, Ben watched the trio down by the water. James had to shift his balance every few moments. Hurley kept his head down, and Miles fidgeted as if uncomfortable. With his face in profile, Sayid could not read the emotions Ben held as he watched. But his eyes moved, and his lips twitched as if having some private argument. At last he sighed. The figures began to slowly come their way, Ford's heavy burden seeming even heavier with every step.

"You hate me, Sayid. Rightly. We pace around each other like jackals that smell each other's wounds. I hated you first, and I never even knew why." His head tilted as if listening. The face, stony grim, turned to regard the Iraqi. "Help me."

Sayid leaned forward to stare at him, an eyebrow raised. Ben stared back. His eyes looked tired, though the blue still pierced.

"We have nothing for each other but our hate. You ought to find an opportunity to use yours. You may even get your absolute wish."

"I should do nothing more for you ever, if I am to be forgiven."

"There is no forgiveness for men like us. There might be absolution. And you might find it in my death. If we're both lucky."

"Why wait, Benjamin?"

A soft exhale. "You probably can't. I seem to be infected with an acute case of life."

"If I drew a knife now, what would I find?"

"You'll get blood, but not death. It's all very insistent. Ask him." He jutted his chin towards James. The three were at the grave now. Sayid and Ben did not seem to exist for the former con man. He kept staring into the earthen hole where the tarp and its cargo now rested. Hurley cast them worried glances.

Sayid remained still. Silently, the men began to fill the grave. Ben pushed himself to his feet and went to them, dropping to his knees beside Juliet's final rest and shoving soil in with careful, elegant movements. He looked up at no one. James raised his head once to glare at him, fangless, wordless, and then dropped his head to stare at his own burial work.

~*~

When they were done and they all sat wearily around the disturbed earth, Ben was the first to break the long silence. "I couldn't bury Alex." His tone asked for no sympathy. Just a cold statement of fact, and an implication that he felt something in helping to bury Juliet.

"I heard you two." The non sequitur sounded like an accusation. "You're up to something." James watched him with red eyes. No tears were left. He was done crying. Ben said nothing in response. "Listen to me, you little asshole. I stayed here because I got nothing else. I'm not gonna say I'll help you, either. But if you point me at something, I will fucking kill it."

Sayid felt sick. The pain he heard in his old enemy's drawl was too familiar. Ben's reaction was not. He sat there, no response, no calculating expression, no manipulative attempt to deter the man's rage.

"It's all I got now. Corpses. You son of a bitch."

Ben accepted the hate like a mantle, sagging under it slightly with no complaint. "Yes."

"Whatever it is, I'm in." Miles. Ben and James looked at him with the same blank look. He shrugged artlessly. "I don't know, man. Playing Party Camp with your old crew isn't exactly a neat thought."

"Should have decided to leave when you could. You're dead weight, kid. Shut up and learn to basket weave."

Hurley interrupted the sniping. "Dude, you guys don't even know what's going on. It's not like anyone's said anything. Everyone's just... speaking up like we're going on a Scooby trip or something."

"I'm leaving the island." Another cold statement.

"Oookay, then."

"Richard said nothing, am I correct?"

"Um, if by nothing you mean anything that'd explain what he thought he'd do off the island, yeah. He did leave a few orders, though. A, um, new boss?"

"I bet I'm gonna like this." Ben rubbed both hands over his face.

Miles grinned. "It's that Lapidus guy. The pilot. You want to leave him for dead, too?"

Ben gave Miles a long, cool look. "I think everyone's on to that one. I'll leave him alone. Not as if I'm remaining to worry about it."

"On the island. Off the island. Back to the island. Off the island again. Jesus, Bugs, you're worse than a dog at the front door." James gave a small, scornful laugh. He got up and walked off. "I'm getting some sleep. Time doesn't matter, right? I'm getting some god damned sleep."

Muttered: "Time matters very much." Ben shrugged. "Hugo, may I talk to you?"

"I'm not going, dude. Whatever this is, I'm out. I'm completely happy to stay here."

"Please."

"Not a chance."

Crooked lips quirked, a faint trace of humor. "You do owe me for throwing overheated food at my head."

Sayid turned his head at that one and raised an eyebrow at Hurley. "Suddenly, Hurley, I feel so much closer in friendship to you."

"Yeah, um. I missed. Real bad." Hurley sagged a little. "Fine. But I'm not going. Guys, would you, uh, take a hike?"

~*~

"Kay, dude. Say your thing."

Ben sat cross-legged, watching the ocean sparkle with night's light. Sayid and Miles had wandered off, Sayid striking on the idea of getting food from the others. Hurley realized he was already adopting the concept of 'other' as lowercase. Not Them. Just them. It was unnerving, and yet not as frightening as he 'd thought.

"I need you. I need a..." Ben's voice trailed off. He seemed uncomfortable. "A moral compass with me, apparently. Not that _he _is telling me anything. He never did. Does. That close and yet I still can barely hear him. Just cold knowledge. Lists. And nudges." He looked somehow shriveled, Hurley's nightmare bogeyman revealed as nothing more than shadows. The flesh of his rejuvenated body couldn't disguise Ben's sense of age. A child within a tired man within a mask. "I do need your help. Hurley."

He never used that name. Hurley tilted his head, feeling confused. "How do I know any of that's true?"

"You don't. You can't. Look at what you're talking to. It is the truth, but I'll tell you it's a lie if it makes you feel better."

"Whatever. Who's 'he?'"

"A particularly annoying side of myself."

"Nice way to talk about your conscience, dude."

Ben snorted at the surprising riposte. "I'm not sure I'd describe it as that, but if you like."

"Get a few more guys killed, what the hey, it's just life."

"I told you. We were the good guys. I believed that. Despite everything you've seen, Hurley, everything you think you know, I still believe that's true. We tried. We failed."

He sighed heavily and continued. "We need to see what went wrong out there. Find the root of this and... I don't know. Destroy something, no doubt. Usually comes down to destruction. I don't know much. Flying blind again."

"This is about Locke, right? He did something weird back there."

"I could lie, spin a myth, explain it all up as some master plan of somebody even better at this than myself, but _I don't know._" Frustration made him clench his fists in his lap. "Flying blind for years, really, and none of you ever guessed. None of them. None of you. I had that going for me."

He looked so tired. Despite himself, Hurley felt sympathy creeping in. The man had that same waiting, hungry look he'd had when John Locke went into that old cabin looking for Jacob. Hurley had offered a candy bar then. Now he was being asked to offer more. The idea stopped scaring him. They'd all stayed on the island because they felt there was nothing left to lose. So what made the difference? Nothing left here. Nothing lost in following.

He'd made one risky, painful decision. Now he made another one.

"...Alright, dude. Two things. One: Just... keep calling me Hugo. It sounds really, really weird out of you otherwise. Second: I'm not going to hurt anyone."

"I wouldn't ask you to."

_Is that true, dude? Is that even possibly true?_

He looked at Ben carefully. Ben lifted his face and looked back at him. It might be.

Or it might not. The man's face held no clear answer.


	4. The Dying Earth

_3._

_The Dying Earth_

Richard Alpert watched it all. He led but for brief moments in the wake of John Locke's disappearance, the aftermath of the incident, guiding a handful of people to the wheel and then out. The sky was purple over Tunisia, the sky was purple everywhere. It took months in the chaos that greeted them, but the others got home. Their part in this was over. They could do little more except find what life they could.

In the end, Richard wondered if they ever wished they had stayed behind.

As the days passed, the purple sky faded but not the effects. Aurorae were left instead, unearthly beauty to veil the shape of things to come. Scientists tracked telluric currents gone mad, a frenetic rise in thunderstorms across the American midwest. Connection to satellites became haphazard, cellphones unreliable and generators became necessary for life in major industrialized countries. Then a month's stretch with no complications.

It was to be a calm between hurricanes.

Another geomagnetic storm burst in late November. There was no warning, no telltale spark from the sun. Thousands died within days in northern climates when the power grids fried out, thousands more died as engineers tried and tried to get the power back. Electrical components were ruined within moments of hookup. It was difficult to make more. Communication went from spotty to nonexistent. Planes crashed and were grounded indefinitely. Tent cities sprung up around airports and bus stations as gasoline became difficult to transport. Many of them froze, too. Governments, much of their equipment hardened against EMP, still faltered. They talked with each other, with their space agencies and scientists. It was difficult to talk to their people.

Thousands became a million and then two million and more as the temperatures dropped and winter grew harsher. Families fled south for warmth and water when their towns could provide no more. Hospitals were paralyzed. And the scientists knew nothing.

Geomagnetic storms, they informed everyone who could listen, were usually the result of solar winds, space weather. Yet there had been no recognizable signs from their Sun, no major solar flares had been detected and certainly none that would cause an event of this magnitude.

Weeks passed while the storm continued. Food delivery, bottlenecked by reliance on computer planning and automated production, became a rare event, heralded like a rock concert. In Europe, riots broke out over canned goods on such a regular basis that it went unremarked when news did seep out. People who had already been living tight in the wake of a worldwide recession began to starve. Mormon communities in the Pacific Northwest sealed up and everyone went armed. Fourteen men were slain one afternoon when they went to a Utah farm to beg for cheese. There would be no reprisals.

In sub-Saharan Africa, they simply starved more. Lurid accounts of cannibalism traveled over the North Korean border to Seoul, the border itself half-abandoned as soldiers from both sides of the DMZ worked together to scavenge. The tales of long pig seemed unlikely, until similar accounts came in from Appalachia, and then Peru, and then Albania. Men in these places could live off the land, but power still fed much of their livestock. Without electricity, their resources suffered a thousand tiny cuts. In desperation, people would turn anywhere to survive.

Farms became battlegrounds as winter passed and spring brought fragile hope for food. Fragile indeed. Water and oil pipes began to show signs of rapid corrosion and the birds were falling from the sky. They could not navigate with nature against them in this way.

A hesitant report was issued from a laboratory in Portland, Oregon. Richard left his name off of it. It suggested that the source of the magnetic disturbance was, in this case, not solar at all. It suggested an interior cause, some massive disruption of electromagnetic energy. A magnetic volcano of sorts. Details of _why _and _how_ such a thing could occur were left out, the final equations of Valenzetti kept within the facility. Temporal compression blowing apart magnetic faultlines were things of science fiction anyway.

The report was still dismissed as a crock.

A scientific division of the Widmore Corporation adopted the report, added new findings, and more importantly, a plan of action to begin to adapt to and predict the geomagnetic upsets. The day the report went public was the day the UN announced to what ears could listen that worldwide fatalities had passed five million. In fact, they were lying. The number had gone past twenty million and there were no contingencies left in the world's arsenal. They had been unprepared for an electrical disaster of this scale. Collectively, the world's governments (save for the usual holdouts) took a chance and gave _carte blanche_ to the Widmore Corporation.

Widmore – and its subsumed minions, leftovers from Hanso and its fringe research divisions – detailed a bleak but survivable scenario. End of decade projections suggested fatalities of at least two billion, and even they were fudging on the side of optimism. The Earth was against them. Production of extra-planetary resources and shelter became top priority.

In 2016 a joint effort between Widmore and an AI/robotics lab in Japan saw a relatively basic automated shuttle launch towards the moon during the gap between minor magnetic squalls. The first self-sustained and situation-adaptable robots deployed themselves onto the lunar surface, dismantled their vehicle, and re-tasked the base materials into a fully-automated facility of steel and mooncrete that produced and refined iron, silicon, aluminum, and titanium far away from the magnetic interference of Earth. The facility expanded itself over the course of three years and then, based on the predictive algorithms provided by Widmore, began sending material home when the storms allowed.

Meanwhile, controversially, Charles Widmore offered himself to Hanso's Life Extension Division as an experiment to test cryogenic viability and DNA reconstruction and rejuvenation. The technology, if successful, would provide hope. Hope mankind desperately craved. The newly hardened lines of communication carried the public footage of the event with the solemnity of a state funeral. Widmore's interests were left in the patriarchal hands of a family line of interim CEOs. John Locke and his descendants – all named John - became a frequent fixture of business news. Updates of Widmore's cryogenic status were reliable and comforting when much else seemed unpredictable, and John often made dry references to his 'cold boss,' giving the corporate facade a more human face. It was artful, admirable stagecraft.

The first sustainable residential station opened in 2056, twenty years after a network of purely technological stations and spacelabs were launched. The second was less than six months later. Prometheus and Atlas Stations were crude, cramped affairs with the bulk of space taken up by the equipment needed to control the environment and sustain the hydroponic labs. Families thronged to them anyway, with more than a few murders claiming planetary escape as their motive.

In 2131, Oceanus Station, the pinnacle of Widmore's technological advancement, activated in Earth's orbit. Capable of sustaining up to six _million_ lives and more as the station expanded, it was greeted with human devotion and gratitude. Man was surviving, beaten but not quite dethroned. The concept of stellar colonization and the hope the dream brought overshadowed the darker side of corporate and scientific evolution. Cries of warning about disguised eugenics practices were dismissed and the hysteria that met the new stations masked the changes that crept into their governments as well.

By the time the joint civilian/automated mining stations Rhea and Phoebe were christened and sent to their respective Venusian and Saturn orbits, nobody noticed or cared that governments and megacorporations had fused. That Widmore had absorbed the bulk of the responsibility for the European Union (but not all, outliers such as Tannis, Nokia, and others remained separate from global and interplanetary government) went as a given. The new generations saw the corp and its sleeping founder as saviors, true leaders into a bright future. The US portion of the Widmore union thrived under the advanced technology and remilitarized accordingly to protect their interests. Stateships painted in the red, white, and blue heraldry of their new Navy patroled the spaceways, promoting peace. They never spoke of the other option. It required no description, swift and surgical reprisals for broken laws and treaties explained for them instead.

Magnanimously, Widmore shared its breakthroughs, and the Indioasian alliances took their place in the stars with Themis at Mars, and Iapetus, a high-heat capable and fully automated industrial station near Mercury. It was a monumental time for intercorp co-operation.

In 2286, the fourth of the new line of community stations, Cronus, became operational, ostensibly in place to oversee Rhea. It was to become Widmore's primary seat of power. In 2287, the current John Locke stepped down in a very private ceremony to a John Edom, the man that would oversee the awakening of Charles Widmore. A few snickers were had at the arrival of yet another John, but this one bore no familial resemblance. He was older, urbane and funnier than Locke, with cold eyes over a frequently smiling mouth.

Charles Widmore was successfully revived and placed back into power by corporate law (law given precedent by obscure judgements handed down in favor of Alvar Hanso) amid pomp and ceremony befitting a king. The taciturn businessman bore it all with grouchy humor and the holovid of his first press conference held center stage on interstation news for several weeks. He then entered seclusion at the suggestion of Edom, to better focus on his psychological integration into his new future.

Richard still watched it all. Not every corporation nor family line joined the crush to leave their home. Civilizations reorganized, hardened themselves against the impossibly recurring magnetic storms as their cousins fled to the stars, and flourished. Life was still frequently difficult, but the Earthers regarded themselves as freer than their starbound cousins. Northern African alliances, Australia, and portions of South America thrived in the wake of the departures of their richer kin and they worked to heal the scars left by limping humankind.

These alliances sometimes bore initially well-meaning but increasingly violent factions that struck out against the megacorporations. Widmore never went public with its figures, but they estimated at least forty-five terrorist attacks against their holdings per year in the early 2200s. It rose sharply over the century.

The guerillas called Earth their home and they knew it well. Using the cover of the storms and information stolen from Widmore computers, they stayed on the move and under radar. It was an open secret that they held a contact base in what was once Tunisia. It was a greater secret that the faction in charge of that area claimed they knew what had really caused the electromagnetic apocalypse.

And Richard watched. Eternal.

~*~

Late August, 2311.

In the secret, broken heart of the world, the wheel turned.


	5. The Sheep Look Up

_4._

_The Sheep Look Up_

Ben's first thought was a sardonic, _God help me, I think I'm getting used to this. _His second, upon opening his eyes, was more heartfelt. _Oh, shit._

_~*~_

Turning the wheel this time had been nearly anticlimactic. Richard had thoughtfully left behind a wooden ladder to descend into the strange, freezing space. Cold knowledge left in his mind had provided the rest. Like children playing in a schoolyard, the five men had joined their hands in a chain while Ben and Hurley pushed the wheel with their free ones. It had moved easily, expectantly, and the light blinded them into rushing darkness.

Benjamin later stirred under open evening sky, awaiting that sudden burst of nausea. It did not come, merely a tickle at the back of his throat. He laid there a moment, opened his eyes, and decided he was going to continue to lay still until the sky started to make sense. He ignored the regularly flickering lights from a small device on a nearby pole. He assumed it was a monitoring camera although it didn't have a recognizable shape in the dark.

There was a stirring behind him, the scruffle of a large form coming upright. "Oh, dude," came the groan, and then the sickness. Miles was next, sitting up with his head in his hands, and then James, who came to with surprising speed. None of them matched Sayid, who had awakened first and now sat cross-legged on a dune overlooking the group. His dark eyes glittered with starlight, and he kept constant watch on Ben.

James swallowed his nausea with an audible gulp. Ben turned his head to cock an eyebrow at him. It was a saner sight than the above. "Whaddahell?" managed the southerner. He pumped a thumb upwards and coughed to clear his throat. "Where we at?"

"This is Tunisia, James. We're not far from a city called Tozeur, you might have been in the same room as a map at some point in your life and seen it on there. It's the edge of the Sahara. And that is an aurora. A very impressive one." There was a crisp tone to his voice. More than the mere statement of the facts, it implied an irritation with them.

"Alright." James hawked and spit into the sand with a grimace. "What's the problem?"

Sayid answered for him. "Aurorae are not normally found at these latitudes, nor do I suppose them to be that magnificent when the unusual occurs. Also, may I direct your attention to the distant skyline and the fact that a few of those stars up there are acting oddly?"

_If they are stars. _Ben had a doubt. He chose to not share it.

"So, maybe this isn't Toe-whatever," mumbled Miles. He'd lifted his head slightly to look up, regarding the massive, darkened cityscape in the distance with dull confusion. "Maybe it's Dubai or something. San Francisco, big beaches around there. We're on a beach. During a power out. Awesome." With belated abruptness, he puked a small amount of bile and returned to holding his head.

"This is not Dubai." Sayid was matter-of-fact. Nor was it Baghdad, or even Cairo, though Cairo's air had felt the closest to this.

"Don't smell salt water, dude. You can smell the ocean from way far away out there." James gave Hurley the universal look of _how the hell do you know? _"I grew up near there."

"This is Tunisia." More cold knowledge assured Ben of his location. "Something's wrong."

_No, it isn't._

He winced, the fact lasing into his mind like ice. "...Or not. Not what I expected, in any case." _Are those satellites? No, too big. _James broke into his thoughts.

"Alright, shortpack. You did this before. What happens next?"

Ben curled a lip at the memory. "Last time? Unpleasant men with guns."

"Fantastic." James got to his feet with a grunt. "Why wait around for them?"

Ben flicked his eyes towards the device. "Probably won't matter. But yes. Let's."

~*~

A desert is inhospitable as a matter of course, and night is seldom that much better. Heat makes way for cold, but the thirst remained and their supplies were limited. There had been no real attempt to pack as they left. They struck out together, hobbling slightly at first as their balance returned, then with more confidence. With no clear goal left to the five men, they marched towards the skyline that marred the horizon. Sayid led, his step more familiar with the shifting sand, and Benjamin ambled close behind.

"When are we, Benjamin?" came the whisper over a brown shoulder. "This is not the sky we know."

"I don't know." A gap in time between turn and arrival, Ben had expected and prepared for that. Warned the others. An uneasy sense told him he had not prepared enough. The jagged skyline in the distance was unsettling, even more so now that lights sparked through it once more. It seemed impossibly large, a New York or a Tokyo. Tozeur had never aspired to such grandeur.

"You do not know, or you won't say?"

_More like 'he' won't say. _"I don't know."

A long silence. "I believe you. I am frightened, Benjamin. You may enjoy that."

_I don't. Not today._

~*~

Twice they changed their path when sounds rose in the night. They veered behind dunes and pled with unseen forces that the night wind would mar their footprints. The sounds they avoided were strange – a soft and steady clank that at first recalled the terror of the jungle blended with a softer purr. Like an engine, surely a vehicle, but it sounded like no dune buggy or truck that any of them knew. They erred on the side of caution and watched angled shadows disappear down the way the five men had come from.

Ben thought of the device and flicked his gaze towards Sayid's tense face. He'd seen the blinking light, too. But their fear came to nothing, no further approach was sensed.

~*~

As the sun rose over shimmering earth, the men stood for a long time on a low dune and stared.

It was not a New York or a Tokyo. It was so much more, and it spread across so much more than they realized. The skyline they had seen was not even the city's edge – an edge that poured and shined over the landscape like a metal sea, an industrial complex of small-town man's nightmare. Deep within were the jagged spikes; spirals and towering buildings of massive configuration. They were miles away, and reached perhaps a mile high. The air shimmered around them like a field.

"Jesus, dude, that makes Epcot look like Smallville." Hurley's voice held deep shock. It was an understatement of several orders of magnitude.

"Megacity," Miles managed. "Holy crap."

"How far you reckon that place spreads?" James surveyed it with his hands on his hips. Sayid kept his arms crossed and his stance akimbo and said nothing. If he were also in shock, he did an excellent job of not showing it.

Ben managed a drawl that belied his own disbelief. "I'll stick my neck out and place a bet Cairo's in there somewhere."

"Um, dude, there's... a whole other country before we even get to Egypt, right?"

_Several hundred miles worth of one, and a couple hundred over in Egypt itself. _ He swallowed on a dry mouth. "Right. Bet stands."

_ "...Dude."_

"Yes. I have no words, Hugo, except to echo Miles's apt sentiment."

They lingered for a while, watching distant lights flicker like fireflies against a hazy sky. Then they pressed on, wordless.

~*~

Tired, thirsty, already wrung-out and stressed by the strangeness they faced, it was Miles who noticed the flashing light first. Even Sayid's head was hung low, and none of them cared to look at the city they trudged towards any further. It kept the fear at bay, denying it. Four men cast increasingly unhappy glances at the shortest among them, and Ben felt their weight. He swallowed his own fear and anger. It would not do to lash out if they accused him of an already failed journey into some terrifying unknown. Logically, a cool head would see them through.

It didn't help the gnaw in his belly, and it didn't help the surety of his belief that Jacob curled within his mind, smiling out at him with the casual disregard of Gods upon men. Scenarios played in his thoughts, who would break first? If it was Hurley, the other three would help calm him and there would be little else to handle. If it was James, a fight. Miles would cause a chaos of hurled insults and the group would split, probably to die. Sayid would be the worst case...

"Hey."

If he had to, he could goad James into his defense. Short-lived but possible, enough time to think up another tactic...

_"Hey."_

Ben dug around his thoughts, looking for ideas, searching to see if there was some angle he missed. Odds are he'd get hit in the face again whoever got pissed off first - _oh well, day ending in Y and all that._ He dismissed the likelihood as an annoyance, more guiltily concerned with the notion that if they didn't get _somewhere _by dusk they were probably in a great deal of trouble.

Miles grabbed his shoulder and Ben swung around, startled. _"HEY!" _The young man pointed. "What the hell is that? Morse?" Ben followed the finger's aim to a high dune and a brilliantly flashing light. His eyes widened in shock.

"Yes. Morse." He tilted his head, considering. "Middle of a message – 'you are,' I think."

Sayid made a soft noise.

"Remain... where you are."

"Okay, so we should totally start running."

James sat down. "We could do that, Cap'n Crunch, or we could just hang out and see if we can take 'em. I'm tired of walkin'."

"We're unarmed," Ben reminded him. The others back on the island had refused to part with any of their arsenal. Ben had lost his baton, Sayid and James had only their general capability. The odds of any scenario were poor. His response to this fact was a general shrug. They were all exhausted. Miles sat next to James. With hesitation, Hurley followed suit. Only Sayid remained standing and they shared a look.

"Maybe we'll get a glass of water before the interrogation," he said, his tone a light drawl.

"Most unlikely, Benjamin."

~*~

They were approached by a similar noise to what they had heard in the night. By sunlight, they got a better look at the vehicle – it was in fact a well-sealed and hard-used sort of dune buggy, but the engine seemed to be exposed in the back and of some unusual configuration. The purr, at a closer range, had an odd liquid gurgle to it. It parked on the dune next to the seated group and shut off with a low hum. A door began to rattle and creak open.

Miles started it. "Dun... dun... dunnnn... daa-dunnnn!"

Hurley picked it up. "Dun-dun, dun-dun, dun-dun, dun-dun..."

Wearily, Ben added: "Ook-ook." Sayid shook his head.

When the man emerged, it was James that finished the unconventional performance of _Also sprach Zarathustra _with a blurted "That guy!"

"Hello to you, too, James." Richard Alpert smiled briefly at the group. He remained where he was, leaning slightly against the vehicle. He looked the same as ever, which was no surprise, and his clothes of a slightly unfamiliar cut. "Been a long time."

Ben was sharp and to the point. "How long? What year?"

He told them. Hurley passed out.


	6. The Terminal Man

_5._

_The Terminal Man_

Charles Widmore had long since grown used to John's unusual hobbies. His most trusted assistant held years – centuries, in fact – of varied, practical experience. A natural sociologist. A diplomat and consummate businessman. In this, Charles regarded him more highly than Alpert, a particular and scrupulous fellow who was, in his opinion, thoroughly unreliable when backs were to the wall. The island advisor's lack of any word of encouragement when Widmore was to be exiled still grated. From bones to balls, Widmore knew Alpert's support of that wretched little brat over him had been a mistake. Had not history proven it beyond a doubt? The thought never failed to curl his lip in disgust.

John 'Edom,' as he called himself now, was far more progressive and the corporation's rise in his hands had been meteoric. A staunch friend and ally. If he were a little eccentric, what of it? Charles would simply accept it. The man had earned that much. Nonetheless, there was a matter of massive concern building. Charles had questions.

A flexscreen remained clenched in his hand as he marched down the hall towards John's private quarters and private lab. The man had taken a keen interest in robotics and cybernetics during the middle of the last century and was a frequent fixture in the R&D. Sometimes he even involved himself in the tech conferences held annually at Themis Station, a lurking, sometimes stridently opinionated presence in his neat black suits and ruffled hair.

Charles knew and trusted him for his stability, his ordered manner when faced with the corp council, and a precise and wide-spanning grasp of everything going on about him. The lab, therefore, was a shocking contrast. With a soft chime, the corp CEO let himself in to observe chaos in action.

John collected fragments of technology and reports from everywhere, scraps piled up on desks, cabinets overflowing with datapads, archaic sheaves of paper, drawers spilling with wires. A set of canisters rested in a corner of the large space, forgotten. Relics of some project he'd been obsessed with nearly two decades ago and now just so much more junk.

The man himself sat in the center, a dark figure under a set of brilliant white lights, in the sole zone he kept perfectly clean and prepared for delicate work. A headless figure sat stiffly in a stainless steel chair, and its – _his_ – smoothly featured face rested in John's hand. The head itself sat on the table. Exposed optics glanced towards Charles as he entered, and then towards John, who nodded politely in acknowledgement. The synthetic man's head released a soft hum, all he could do in his current position, and the smooth face smiled pleasantly, if a bit lopsidedly.

"Easy, Betts. Hold still. Not done yet. Good afternoon, Charles."

"John." He waited near the door, discomfited. Synths. They were not particularly common, the most human models. They proliferated throughout the automated stations, figures unearthly, inhuman, frequently tasked to duties better suited to nearly insectoid forms or something odder yet, but those did not trouble him. These did, the newest generations, and of course they served on Cronus the most. Another Widmore achievement.

John's wrist moved imperceptibly, a soft hiss of heat greeting the movement. In his fingers was a tiny tool, an advanced welder capable of microscopic work. A guiding display projected holographically over the operator's hands and allowed more precise work without a secondary machine. Expensive toys. "There, now. Try again."

The face smiled, a smooth and even expression. John beamed back. "All right, let's get you back together." The face fitted back onto the head evenly, and the body's arms reached out to accept repaired, fragile cargo. Charles repressed a shudder as the head popped back into place and the synthskin sealed with a ripple.

"Thank you, Mr. Edom." Perfectly modulated, even harmonious. "I shall return to my work."

"Have fun out there, Beta." He flipped the synthetic man a lazy salute. Charles, for his part, managed to not growl at it.

"He's very nice, Charles, and he doesn't even cheat at poker." John's voice needled gently.

"We have engineers to repair those... things. I don't know why you bother."

"It was a very simple matter and I had some free time." He gestured. "I see you got the report."

Charles tossed the flexscreen onto the table. It uncurled slowly, digital words and images scrolling across it. "When were you going to inform me?"

"Over dinner. Bad news like that can wait, but no, I see we couldn't even make it to lunch." John shrugged and leaned back. "Unpredicted geomagnetic event. Net loss to all involved corps is negligible, shouldn't affect our next storm prediction. Mid had the power back on in eighty percent of its affected districts within hours. Barely even got a mention on interstation news. Got a nice aurora out of it, did you watch the footage?" John tapped the flexscreen, pointing out a looping low-alt satellite capture of the event over northern Africa. Charles continued to stare at him. "Guess not. No, I haven't had a report yet, Charles."

"Jacob is out now. Loose."

"Jacob is dead. He's an echo, just a virus in the system. His carrier? Certainly loose." John put the tool down with a soft clink. "And I'm sure he's being monitored. I expect I'll hear something within days. I'm not concerned."

"If the Earthers snap him up, we've got a hornet's nest. Loose on Earth, loose everywhere else. He'll get his hands on everyone he can manipulate to his ends and everything we've built will come to naught. The future you predict will come to be. And the island?" He snorted. "Nothing will change. Everything stays damned. You should have made certain of his destruction when you had the chance. Do we even know the carrier?"

"I have a suspicion, Charles. It's being handled."

"For God's sake, don't tell me it's that little rat. Benjamin. I was under the impression that he was dead, too."

John shrugged. "You're far too worked up over this. Tea?"

"No, damn you." His temper was heating. John rose to order two cups from a wall console anyway, his face the picture of serenity. Hot water and the soft release of a powdered tincture combined to form a pair of perfect Darjeelings. He offered it towards Charles, who took it wordlessly. His bluster softened very slightly. "Three hundred years, John. You understand my concerns."

"I do." John smiled pleasantly and retook his seat. A sip of tea, and his eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Have I ever explained to you why I like them so much? The new synths?"

Charles grimaced and took the seat vacated by Beta Three. "No."

"They're pure. They come into the world, and you tell them – these are your rules that you are born to, this is your duty. All else to come is of your own choice. It's quite an evolution of the Thomists, actually. And they adapt to this, accept it, take responsibility for it with no complaint. They make their decisions as their logic guides them. They don't need gods to do it, or someone else's moral influence. They execute free will perfectly – and with the betterment of their own existence as a secondary to the betterment of all."

"Free will without a soul, John. Given to them by men that fancy themselves gods." Charles dropped his eyes to sip his tea and missed the crease that passed across John's face.

"And destiny is forced upon men who think that life is given _meaning_ when in fact it's just another making your decisions for you. But let's leave the province of gods and men to philosophers." John put his teacup down. "Let me ask another riddle instead – I've given you the stars, Charles. Is the island really still so important to you?"

Firmly: "Yes." Charles snorted. "And no. It is more than desire, John. It is my _home._ It is a symbol to me of everything we've lost.

"We've been exiled, you know. From the island, yes, then the earth. Oh, mankind thrives there after a fashion – like the island. But nothing changes. Industrial and agricultural life on a meta-scale, subsistence for them, a tithe to us who change for them. Not just you and I, John, all the corporations. We brought them ways of hardening the cities against the storms, but we had to come up here first to do it. Expanded their fields. Pollution is down dramatically – but we can't claim it as a hope we made. Mankind flees to the sky. Earth grows empty but for madmen and all the devils are here." An angry smile. "You and me, John. We're their devils. We tried to bring change to the garden and they're sick of it so they fight. The Earth. The island. It's the same thing – both lost in storms we cannot hope to navigate forever.

"Let us repair that, find a different future than the one you've seen. A better one, instead of scrambling after chaos. We need our home. Without it, we stand at risk of losing our humanity."

"Admirable stance." The tone was neutral and very careful. "What if a better future requires the island to be lost?"

A shrug. "Be it under my hands. Rightly, and with justice. _Not _by Jacob's infernal whim, nor his puppet."

"On this we agree." John saluted him with his teacup and a wry smile passed his lips.

~*~

There were a number of shelters and boltholes throughout the desert, a network of them stopping just shy of the edge of the massive city. Relics of life that had adapted and moved on. Richard knew them all, and he'd taken the five lost, confused travelers to one nearest to where he'd found them.

A rough history lesson had taken several hours. The five men absorbed the information numbly, each of them asking only the rare question. It was Ben that asked for a clearer overview of the corp-political system and its roots in restructuring humanity after the disaster. Richard had tried to gloss over the details, prepared to explain Widmore's continued and existence and role after some rest. Ben's questions knocked his intentions astray and Richard found himself reluctantly relating the rise of Charles Widmore to a megacorporate savior and the figurehead of the future's innovation. Details of John's involvement were more sparse.

Ben took it well, considering.

"I would very much like a drink." His voice wavered slightly and his blue eyes stared at something only he could see. After a moment, he dropped his head in his hands and sighed heavily. Silence fell on the room with a thud.

Eventually Hurley spoke through numb lips. "Can I go home now?" More silence greeted the words.

"How do we move?" Sayid rustled slightly from where he leaned against the wall. He looked contemplative. "We cannot stay here."

"You're not in the network, you'd get grabbed up within hours of entering Mid."

"Mid?" asked Hurley.

"Midcity. Middle-East, Mid. Toz-trip-airo-dahd never really caught on." Richard's attempt at humor fell flat and he shifted in his chair. "East City is all of the New York area, chunk of what was Canada, over to... Cleveland, I think. Haven't been out there in a while." The history lesson was beginning to settle in. Dawning comprehension, alienation, mild horror showed on several faces. Except Ben. He remained where he sat at the table, face in his hands.

"Tokyo?"

"Stayed Tokyo, actually. It's just all of Japan now. Most of Micronesia."

"Jesus Christ," said Miles. "I could use that drink, too."

"Okay." James had taken in the lecture while leaned against the wall near Sayid, arms crossed, manner deceptively relaxed. He unfurled and stalked across the room to drop himself heavily into the chair next to Ben. Slowly, the smaller man raised his head to cock an eyebrow at him. "I think we've all got a pretty clear understanding of just how fucked this all is. Three hundred years, Little Chief. We signed on, came out here cause you said something needed doing and all of us didn't know any better." He recrossed his arms and gave Ben an angry little grin. "Now I think it's time we got to hearing what exactly the plan here is. I know you got one."

"Can we assume I don't?" Ben's tone was carefully bland.

"Not a chance."

Ben exhaled, looking weary. "I explained a bit of it-"

James cut him off. "Yeah, got that. Needed to come out here and see what happened – which we did, right? Planet shit itself a chicken, electrical storms all over the place. People dyin' – probably our friends, too. Let's just... let that one go for now." Another wild, pissed grin. "I kinda get that the whole time thing ain't exactly controlled. Now, if I recall, Hurley there said something about you wanting to track down the source. Ain't that... just the island?"

Ben shook his head. "Yes and no." His eyes squeezed shut. "If I'm understanding certain things correctly, there's a catalyst event. This catalyst can be stopped before it sets into motion a certain chain of events."

Miles raised a hand. "Uh, we had the 'whatever happened, happened' discussion. And you know? We kinda blew up a nuke, time traveled, and then things went kablooey for the world. I think it happened already."

"Not quite. What _should _have happened – as you remember it, and I remember it, is that the device went off with the radiation... subsumed into time. Collapsed within itself, activating an existing fault line. Dharma builds the Swan on top of this electromagnetic fault with a device that keeps the energy contained under control." His eyes were still squeezed shut. "Bear with me, I'm puzzling some of this out myself."

"And some lucky asshole presses the button forever." James shrugged. "All that happened."

"So it did." Ben rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "And then some of your people let the damned thing blow up." He neglected to bring up his own attempt at nearly destroying the place under Locke's watch.

"Okay?" Miles stuck his hands in his pockets and did a sideways shrug. "Is anyone else getting a massive headache?" Hurley raised a hand. "What's the future got for aspirin?"

Richard supplied the answer. "Aspirin."

"That's really disappointing. Got any?"

Richard rose and disappeared into the kitchenette area. He returned with a small bottle, passing it to the men as Ben resumed his explanation. "But even that isn't the issue, the hatch. When that blew, it collapsed in on itself, adding to the fault line but at the same time it didn't destabilize it. Not _then_, anyway. The nuke, the hatch, the nuke, your return. That should have been a finished loop. Apparently."

"Apparently?"

"Would you believe I'm getting this secondhand?" Richard gave Ben a sharp look at that.

"Whatever, Chief. Believing much from you is pissin' in the wind. Go on."

"Something didn't... happen correctly. When you returned. I believe it has to do with whoever was wearing the face of John Locke. He's the catalyst. In time, he'll... do something that enhances the temporal issue. It wasn't your return. It was something else. He escaped the island, where he was relatively restrained. Out here, he can meddle. And has, it sounds like.

"Ultimately, James, I'm informed that if he is not stopped, he will cause the destruction of the island. _That _is the event that causes the entirety of the electromagnetic fault. The island has been resting on the echo of its own eventual destruction. A massive burst of energy from that destruction – not merely the device - was released when you returned and it is still affecting the planet."

"But we have seen the results of that, and so it will happen. The snake will eat its tail, Benjamin." Sayid looked thoughtful.

Miles closed his eyes. "How much aspirin are you allowed to take? Because two pills are not going to cut it."

"Shut it, Egon." James turned back to Ben. "You got another theory."

"Something _did _change, James. Outside of 'whatever happened, happened,' probably some gap in the chronology that got abused. We don't understand time and space as it is, and don't look at me. I'm not a physicist. The point is, John Locke got out. We're not on the same path of history that we were meant to be on. If we can ride this out, get to Locke... stop him... then this timeline that we're living gets a better outcome than what it's facing. Maybe."

"Spit it out."

"The Earth will be ultimately unlivable by humans, birds, fish, anything that relies on natural electrical fields. It's bound by a pattern now, society's living in the gaps. In time, it will be a husk. With a giant crater in its side. Sound like fun?"

"Well, hell, son. Coulda just told me we're off to save the world. Y'know. Assuming any of this is true." James crossed his arms and leaned back. "What's this fucko get outta all that?"

"I have no idea. My information stops there. I get told exactly how much I need to be useful. Nothing else." His voice was bitter and his eyes glanced to Richard, who dropped his own gaze. "You'd think I'd be more used to that."

"Faked it pretty goddamn good. Alright, I'm curious. I'll stick. What's the next step?"

"We need to integrate. Find access to this network and begin to move towards John. Are we all agreed?" Silence met Sayid's words. Miles shuffled his weight slightly and Hurley was watching Ben with a furrowed brow. "Very well. Silence is assent. How do we accomplish this?" Sayid tilted his head and regarded Richard with a mild expression.

Richard licked his lips. His expression darkened in thought. "I... don't have the ability to get you into the network. I don't have the connections I used to. When Jacob died, when the world..." He puffed an exasperated breath. "Look, I never had the sort of control over things a leader ought." He shrugged, a rapid, offhand movement. "But I might be able to contact some people who can do this for you. It's tricky, they're pretty paranoid, but they also _know._"

"About what?"

"About the island's existence. Jacob, too, I think. I had a hunch that Ilana got away, that's where these resistance pockets popped up from. Not sure that's all of it, however. The Earthers have some pretty expansive goals."

"If they're related to our islanders, then why don't you serve them?" Ben's voice was sharp.

"I felt it better to stay neutral, keep watch, hope for orders from Jacob. We've communicated, but we're not close. These goals of theirs... Ben, there's no clarity in any of this. Nothing I can see."

"You knew better than to hope, Richard. There are no orders coming." Eerily flat. "He's dead. Contact them, then. Do not inform them of more than you need."

Richard closed his eyes. "I'll see what I can arrange."


	7. Children of Men

_6._

_Children of Men_

It took nearly two weeks for Richard to report back with any sort of progress. Two weeks of half-hearted sniping, fidgeting, games of poker, and whispered conversations of varying shades of _do you believe all this? What are we going to do out there?_

The island's ex-despot kept to himself, rarely stirring from the sole unshared room. He would emerge occasionally, take another small pile of old books or upload more information to a data utility Richard had left for their use, and disappear again. When asked by Hurley about his withdrawal from the group, he replied only that "I thought you would prefer to _not _deal with my presence. Considering our collective history." Which was on one hand nothing else but a rare and honest truth, and on the other a fairly obvious excuse to be alone. His sleep remained restless, screams often waking Miles in the room he shared with Hurley.

The night before Richard would return held the worst of the anguish. Miles and Hurley exchanged looks in a dim room.

"Maybe we should go wake him up?" Hurley finally ventured. Miles shifted, flicking on a soft light.

"I don't think so. You want to tell him he's sleeping like a freaky toddler? Yeah, I don't want to deal with that." Miles crossed his arms behind his head as another soft wail drifted through the metal wall. "I don't think I could have looked my mom in the eye afterward and done it. 'Hey, mom. Heard you freaking out, pretty sure this isn't embarrassing for you.' Genocidal whackjob? Hell, naw."

"There's something wrong with him, dude. He's suffering."

"Can't happen to a nicer guy."

Hurley sighed. "Okay, point, but-"

"But nothing. If it bugs you, go tell Sayid about it. He'd be happy to put a pillow over the guy's face."

"He'd survive it."

"Yeah, but he'd be real quiet for a few hours." Another low sound of pain. "Jesus. Maybe it'd be a kindness."

~*~

In their room, unable to sleep, Sayid and James played silent rounds of Texas hold'em. They shared a look at each wordless howl but said nothing. Sympathy held no camp on their faces.

~*~

_In the cold and clattering dark:_

_ The calming voice. "I'm keeping you alive." Then anger - "Stop fighting me." Accusations. "You don't listen." Orders. "They must follow you. There is no choice. Keep them close." Cold knowledge, plans, the goading memory of a dying girl's final beg._

_ A plaintive, childish wail. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU."_

_ The quiet, emotionless response. "You never listened."_

_ Always in the dark. Alone. Just the whispers._

_ He fought anyway. And screamed. And screamed. In the morning, he would not remember._

~*~

Richard returned at dawn with more clothing and other odds and ends. He chose to not remark on each man's haggard and unslept appearance, much as all of them said nothing themselves. "I've got news. We'll be traveling to another location, just a couple miles from the edge of the city. They'll be waiting for us there." Members of the Earther resistance. Richard still described some of them as evolved island loyalists, but it was muddled in the telling. They were fanatically opposed to Widmore, funded privately. There was an implication of involvement by other corporations, but Richard explained little of that.

"Do you trust them?" Weariness gave Ben's voice a wavering edge.

"They've got a pretty strict code of honor and it'll be plain we're not with Widmore. I've also apparently got more reputation left in the area than I thought, some of them remember who I am. They say they're willing to visit and talk. Probably cost." Richard shrugged. "I can handle that, least I can do. Pack up, it's a five hour trip and I'd like to get there by dusk."

~*~

'They' turned out to be a 'he.' A lanky figure greeted them at the door to another desert shelter. He introduced himself as Vance, green eyes in a youthful olive face framed by thick, curling hair. A weapon was slung over his shoulder, superficially resembling a shotgun with a solid plastisteel butt. It held no obvious magazine. "Hello, welcome," he said, his voice set in a friendly, slightly English twinge. "You're the travelers we're hearing about? I'm to be your liaison for the discussion, the boss lady herself don't come out too much. 'Tween you and me? Just as well, she's a bit of a bear." A lazy smile. "C'mon in, get you some tea and a nice seat. Got to be polite, show our guests a good face, yeah?"

He small-talked his way through the corridors of the underground shelter, secure in a daffy, offhand charm. "Haven't been in this one for a while; once you go City, it's hard to hang out in the desert. Still. Farm beats 'em both. You been out western way? Agriculture's really sprung back, it's wonderful. Hear tell they're seeing buffalo again across the pond, herds of them. Ah, here we are, a nice conference room." There was, in fact, tea waiting for them. Real tea, Vance informed them, with pride in his voice. He politely ignored the men's refusal to do more than sip the barest bit from the cups. "Some things Earth still does better'n the corp brats. We ship 'em the rubbish coffee, too. Think they're being smart with the smuggling, but we know better."

Eventually Vance got them seated along the room's narrow table, himself at the head, gun unslung and leaning against his chair. Richard, Hurley, and James sat with their backs to the door, the rest across. They talked a while, discussing the difficulties of forging access to the Earth/Intercorp Net, much less the requisite identity and DNA set that would have to take place. Vance claimed capability for the task, but wouldn't explain the details of how.

A handful of others begin to drift in and out, unintroduced. They brought Vance the occasional update or answer to some question the group had on what Richard explained were 'flexscreens,' extremely elastic sheets of nanotubes and ionic liquid that had long since replaced LCDs. "Got to press a bit, sorry. Lot aren't bringing up your goals here. Just shuffling out of the wilderness into the city? Maybe want to get into the sky without anyone looking too close?"

"Just need to get our footing. Something of a... fresh start." Ben smiled affably, having long since buried his exhaustion behind a pleasant, alert facade. "I'd hate to cause an imposition."

Vance shrugged. "Mm. Difficult. Can do it, take time. Lot of time. Spot of credit, which I think our good mutual friend here's offered to help with, and that soothes most of who you be. Credit answers many questions. Or so you'd think. I'm a moral man, and I like my questions answered. Clearly. Why _should_ we help you?" He grinned cheerfully. "You answer me, little one. Seem to be the boss of the group."

Ben tilted his head slightly, appearing to consider. "I don't know. We've simply asked for help – if there's something we can offer, I'd mention it, but we're just trying to travel on."

"It's a good man can admit he doesn't have all the answers, but come on, lad. Hot business deal on Oceanus? Maybe a little shady?" Vance chuckled. "Once you're set up in the network, the sky is yours. Go anywhere, do anything – well, within reason and 'reasonable monitoring standards.' You know you can't fart anywhere without someone recording it. Less you know how. If you're looking to do anything but be a fry cook, you need more help than you're asking for. And since you're not asking where the asking's good, that means you're keeping something."

"As I say, wouldn't want to be an imposition." Ben's tone remained solidly polite. Inside, pure tension. He didn't risk a glance at the others.

Vance laughed. "I'm not trying to corner you, sir. Well, maybe a little, but it's all good intentions." A woman glided in and placed a tray of fresh tea and some bread next to Richard. She lingered a moment, busying herself with the clatter of porcelain and metal. Richard glanced up at her and then back to Vance. "How'd you come to know old Richard here?"

Sayid broke in, his voice sharp. "I'm sorry, is this leading somewhere?"

"Going to tell me you all met on the road, fast friends, I wager. All very Chaucer. Nice, simple... not true, is it?" He leaned forward and fixed Ben with a sharp green eye. "What lies in the shadow of the statue?"

Dead silence answered him, Ben making an excellent show of simple confusion. Vance shook his head. "Oh, lads. Are you going to make poor, tired Richard answer? He knows, of course. Don't you?" Vance jerked his chin towards Richard, whose eyes were very wide. His mouth parted slightly, and his head began to lean forward. The woman withdrew a small syringe from the back of his neck, laid it on the tea tray, and stepped away. Wordlessly, she stalked out of the room. Sayid got to his feet even as Vance held out an open palm. "Hold on, now. S'alright. Just putting a few changes in your plans. Ruhi?" The last he bellowed towards the far doorway. He reached out and pushed Richard's head gently to the table. "It's done, girl."

She appeared in the doorway like a little ghost. A young woman, surely no older than fifteen, dark hair caught back in a wild tangle of a ponytail. _Alex? _panged Ben's heart for a moment, but no. This one's face was swarthy and square, a pug nose. A face of strong character, if not traditional cute. She had the same tomboy flair, loose pants and a long, ragged man's shirt. The future disappointed, but for slight changes in cuts it was mostly recognizable. Fashion refused to give way to Buck Rogers. She watched the five men and the now-unconscious Richard studiously, unhappily. Her eyes were a flat dark shade and kept a troubled look to them. "He hasn't touched anyone, has he?"

Ben blinked. The rest just looked puzzled.

"No, girl, and you know right well it doesn't matter. But the men could use some explanation afore I get it in the face. Dark one there's mighty unhappy."

"Two dark ones. Both unhappy." She stepped closer, her expression paving way for caution. "You need to know. You never knew, but you need to." She raised a wavering hand and pointed to Richard. "He's been a traitor all along, you see. He was never Jacob's. Always _his. _From the first on the Black Rock to now. I'm sorry." She finished awkwardly and lowered her hand. "Two weeks. You're probably in trouble, he knows by now. He'll be watching. We'll ask Richard about it when he wakes, see to the damage. I'll help you. She'll help you, I'll make her. It's _got _to be done. Got to stop."

"Who the hell is _he? _What the hell is going on?" James got to his feet next, his face showing frustration and anger. Vance stayed in his chair, eyes not missing a thing. His expression was still pleasant. Miles put his face in his hands.

Ben examined Richard with an eyebrow raised. There was no surprise in his expression, but his hands flexed as if unsettled. Finally they rested on the table, palms pressed against the cold steel. "How do you know?"

Ruhi took another step, answering James first. "He calls himself Esau sometimes. He thinks he's being funny. It's been so long for him that he doesn't really bother remembering his first name. They're all his. Esau, Edom, Christian, John... You could call him Legion. That's funny, too, isn't it?" She smiled suddenly, an expression that deepened haunted eyes. "No, it isn't."

"How?" Ben repeated his question. "You know him."

She wrung her hands. A worried glance at Benjamin. "He's my father." She looked at Vance. "He mustn't touch me. He's infected. Please. I'm sorry!"

"What-" managed Ben, and then the butt of Vance's gun collided with his forehead. His head joined Richard's on the table.

It took four more men piling into the room with guns at the ready before the rest calmed down.

_END part one:_

_There will be a minor temporal anomaly. Please stand by._


	8. Station Break: Transmissions

_Transmissions:_

_ Dateline – May 14__h__, 2312. This is INN – the Interstation News Network! Thank you for connecting. In this hour – EIN Security Chief Philip Deckard will be with us to discuss the regular outages the Earth/Intercorp data network has been suffering since late last year. Is YOUR data at risk? Stay tuned!_

_ Also ahead in this hour: EU-Tannis is posting record profits in the wake of their alliance with the Indiochine megacorp Trimurti. Trimurti, primary owner and operator of Themis Station, has opened their doors to increased influence from the Earth-based corp. This year, Trimurti allowed several controlling figures from Tannis to step into their extremely private corp council. This isn't the first giant step Tannis has taken lately, last year the corporation bought out several manufacturers in Northern Africa just steps ahead of a concentrated stock assault by Widmore. We'll look at the corp timeline coming up in our second half. Sounds like that massive corporate reorganization worked out pretty well for some people at Tannis, Bob!_

_ Ha, ha, Cathy! Widmore's got some upstarts on its hands at Tannis-Trimurti. It'll keep things lively, and as we all know, conflict drives innovation!_

_ And in entertainment news, tech magnate Flynn unveiled the latest gaming megasystem, the MCP Legacy. We'll show it at the end of the hour._

_ ~upbeat music~_

_ Cronus Station – safe, secure, and scenic. Fifth Ward, the exciting new residential expansion by Widmore, has just opened for new tenants and has generously set aside a handful of delightful quarters for discerning applicants from anywhere in the network! The finest hydroponic gardens decorate the Ward's rings and each home is built to the highest standards of luxury. Enjoy the newly installed Hanna Cafe – operated by famed Oceanus chef Mikael Ruhlman - on the observation deck or dine comfortably in your new home with a simple in-residence request. As a special bonus, each residence will be staffed by their own assigned top of the line Beta Synth! Transmit now and our professional staff will immediately help you arrange an application._

_ ~stirring instrumentals~_

_ Fear comes first from within. Stand with the US-Alliance Navy and conquer your own. Excellence in duty. The Alliance Navy. Transmit now. We'll take you to the stars._

_ ~station identification jingle~_

_ This... is INN._

_ And we're back! During the break, the ISX dropped slightly on major breaking news out of Phoebe; the automated gas and mineral processing station has suffered a heavy blow to production when a chemical leak caught fire and caused a massive depressurization. We've intercepted the synth report and are assessing the total damage. No statement yet by Widmore, who operates the station._

_ Hope the synths are alright, Cathy! Ha, ha._

_ Let's introduce Mr. Deckard to our audience. Mr. Deckard has been with the EIN council for fifty-three years, serving with distinction previously with the Alliance Navy and been a major voice for increased security in all aspects of our society. Last September, he controversially asked the EIN council to shut down the public network for at least six weeks to look for the source of what he claimed were massive security leaks. Let me ask you, Mr. Deckard, about the accusations of fear-mongering you've been fighting for the last decade._

"I am not a fear-monger. The data we're seeing is very specific. There is an enormous security breach in the network that's being disregarded-"

_ You believe._

"That I know is undermining private data. Someone has backdoor access to the network. We have illegals in our network now, people using false identities to-"

_ This is a theory you've been putting out there for quite a while, Mr. Deckard._

"It is not a theory. If you'll look at this data stream, you'll see a very clear set of network signatures dating from 2306-"

_ Mr. Deckard-_

"Originating from Cronus Station and if you'll just look-"

_ Mr. Deckard, let me interrupt and say that multiple security techs from your own council have double-checked your work and they're not seeing what you see._

"If you'll just look you'll see the same signatures in regular chatters we've intercepted coming from Earth!"

_ Will you respond to the statement I just made?_

"Those techs were paid off by corporate interests to-"

_ Mr. Deck-_

_ ~crosstalk~_

_ I'm sorry, that's all the time we have for Mr. Deckard today. You can access his findings at EIN/PKD/Security. We'll be taking viewer input on your interpretations all through tonight! Transmit now._

_ And now we're over to Nick Romero at Flynn's ENCOM entertainment corporation! Nick?_

_ Hi, Cathy, we're chatting with Mr. Flynn about..._

_ ~END TRANSMISSION~_

(Note: For the five of you following this weirdo thing, there will be a posting break until after the Christmas holiday. Have a happy holiday season and we'll see you soon!)


	9. Red Mars

_Previously in Part One: _In the wake of what we refer to as 'The Incident,' islanders in both the past and the present were finally rejoined. It was the only good news, however, as a worse threat rose under a freakish purple sky. 'John Locke' disappeared from the island and from the island's eye as Benjamin Linus lay dying, and Richard, troubled and desperate, led many out via the frozen wheel that rests at the island's heart. A handful remained; loyalists now following the grizzled pilot of Ajira Air, Hurley, Miles, and James. The dead litter the island; among them is Juliet and with her rests James' heart. Sayid also lays dying, and three men are prepared to dig two graves.

As Ben miraculously rises from his injuries and comes to grips with his renewed and unwanted life, the world changes beyond the island's veil. Time is meaningless on the island as Richard, trapped in the outer world, watches the centuries turn and struggling mankind flees to space stations and other vessels as some unexpected side effect of the Incident causes geomagnetic storms to bring earth-bound life to a crawl. Charles Widmore sleeps for three hundred years, a gift given to him by Dharma's experimentation, while John Locke - now John 'Edom' - watches over him and his thriving monolithic corporation. At their side are loyal navies bound by survivor's gratitude and a new miracle of engineering; the adaptable robots and the synthetic people who care for their human masters. John Edom embraces this new machine future, while Charles himself remains dubious.

Into this future world come the travelers from the island via the wheel's turn; five men, or six if one counts the lingering ghost of Jacob carried within Ben's dark and weary heart. Sayid walks with them, healed by Jacob's touch through Ben's fingers. The rest, Miles, Hurley, and James, come willingly, if cautiously. Shocked by the sight of the northern Saharan Desert, now a nearly-alien megacity, the thirsty and confused men encounter the eternal Richard, who still reaches out to help them. With only a few options possible and their arrival already known to Edom and Widmore above, they send contact to the 'Earthers,' men who chafe under the constant monitoring of corporations. Men who might know of the island and its secrets. The Earther Resistance swears their assistance to the ultimate goal of stopping Edom's plan of destroying the island - and thus, something of Earth itself - but the assistance will come on their terms only. Ben and the others are introduced to a young woman who claims to be Edom's daughter, and it is in those moments that Jacob's nebulous plans are forced to change.

As Ben is taken prisoner, Richard declared a traitor, and the others left in confusion, time passes and situations alter. The Earthers are somehow capable of access to the interplanetary data network that all humans are connected to and can manipulate it to their own ends. Cries of warning from security watchdogs go disregarded as Ben and the others drift into this new future society and take their places in it, waiting for their chance to find the man who wore John Locke's face.

Above a red planet turns Themis Station...

_Part Two:_

_7._

_Red Mars_

_Themis Station, Mars orbit, September 2312_

"Which brings us, collectively, to the issue of the Translant algae field. Refinery is down 2%, and that's cutting into our overall biofuel profits. I realize Phoebe is still offline, but why can't we route some of this through another station's refinery meanwhile?" Murmurs of assent from much of the corp council. They sat around an expansive wooden table, two walls of the massive room a full interactive display of Tannis-Trimurti interests. Stock numbers scrolled in shades of blue and green. The third wall showed an external view of the curve of Mars. Most of the men watched the numbers, grown jaded by long years of business. Only one, the newest, had eyes for the glowing red surface instead. Steel structures glittered on its distant skin and his gaze flickered along them. More factories. Insectoid Gamma synths scuttled through them hard at work, ants in a hive. The man's face was unreadable.

One of the lawyers spoke up. "Letter of the contract, sir. Phoebe is scheduled to come back by the end of the month, still within the scope of our agreement. If it doesn't, we can start investigating breach of contract on their end and make up the difference in manufacture next quarter through the suit."

"Ugh." The Tannis corp officer was a soft dumpling of a man wrapped in a shiny suit. "Very well. God damned Earther terrorists." He shoved at a flexscreen on the table with the impatient, antsy babyhands of a man who has a great deal of money and thirsted for more of it. Bland, dark eyes glanced down the table at the newest corp man, sent by the Earth office to liaise between ground and sky. "Constant, is there anything you can add on this?"

A sleek, dark head swiveled slightly, drawing his gaze away from the alien landscape. His voice was polite, melodious, and inarguable. Gloved hands rested in his lap – passing strange quirk, even for a transplanted Earthman. Who wore gloves in a temperature-controlled environment? "The plant is staffed by a skeleton crew as it stands, we let ten percent of the workforce go at the end of last quarter. There is little else to cut."

"Must be something."

The man, Constant, smiled very slightly. A crooked expression in a pale, curiously youthful face. The corp officer grimaced at it, his feral instinct inclined to dislike the man without cause. "I'm sorry, Zelazny." Constant's head tilted slightly, blue eyes lidding in contemplation. "We might consider a transfer of some of the Gamma synths from Iapetus to here and then restructure some of our workers here back to Earth. With increased production on the ground, you'll see your profits recover more than enough when Phoebe's refinery comes online. In fact, I would surmise a three percent additional profit."

Some murmurs at the idea. The dumpling – Zelazny - still looked unhappy. "Mmhmm. Mmhmm. But we're still down this quarter."

Pleasant smile. "Yes."

"Won't do. We'll think of something. Maybe a wage cut."

Constant inclined his head politely. "Of course." _You ridiculous, short-sighted old fool. _A blacker thought drifted by, his mild expression unchanged. He let it go after a faint whisper of inner disapproval, looked away again at the stars_._

"All right, gents. Good enough for today. Tomorrow we need to discuss the incoming we'll have for the annual tech conference next week." The dumpling got up. "Same time. Gene, dinner?" Another corp officer grinned and slapped the fat man on his shoulder. "Meet you on third deck. Usual."

In a rustle of expensive suits and folders, the men filed out of the Tannis-Trimurti boardroom. Remnants of filthy jokes carried back, and only Benjamin 'Constant' was left, as he preferred it. He looked at Mars and its hazy, flickering glow for a long, long while in lonesome peace. It occurred to him to wonder, faintly, if any of the synths below ever looked up.

~*~

The expansive luxury quarters were dark when Hurley entered. They almost always were; Ben took long hours playing at the art of being a cultured Tannis employee and when he was not, he wandered. The girl herself came and went as she pleased. That was fine with Hurley, the warm emptiness of the rooms became somehow colder when the three were together in the multi-wing home. The fake businessman, his skittish ward, and his distinctly uncomfortable steward. It made for slow time in the evenings.

Hurley spent most days working in the hydro labs, tending plants and working with the myriad of small kitchens that fed from the place. It was pleasant work, and his earthy experience and patience paid well. It also tended to earn him extra supplies that he used in his own kitchen – Ben seldom took any time to cook and Hurley thought the preset machine options were obscene - and he had pulled several rare and genuine compliments from both Benjamin and the girl, Ruhi. It gave him some pride, something to comfort him even as he felt he walked every day on eggshells.

This natural and consistent terror of his situation led him to a squawked _"YAAAAGH!"_ when he ordered the lights of the large living space on and caught out the corner of his eye the black-suited figure of Ben in one of the chairs. Hurley staggered back and clutched his chest. A bag wedged in his other arm nearly toppled. Ben stirred very slightly and gave him a mild, querying look. His gloved hand dropped from where it had held a contemplative chin to rest on a knee. "Dude. _Dude. _Make some noise if you're gonna be sitting there like that when I come in. Common courtesy. I think I'm having a heart attack."

"I'm sorry, Hugo. I was thinking."

Hurley put the bag down and gave him a better look. The man sat like carved black ice, but the eyes were old and distant and a little sad. "Yeah?"

"I had a bad day at the office." Ben's lips quirked. "How mundane to say it like that. You could be tricked into thinking life was... normal."

Hurley fiddled with the wall console, at a loss as to what to say. Lights went on in the kitchen, machines whirred softly in anticipation of his arrival as household cook.

"Normal. Worst lie I could ever think of, and I've worked with some shoddy examples." Was he being funny? Hurley shot him a look. "Don't mind me. I imagined killing a fat, greedy old man today because he was fat and greedy. On reflection, someone probably should."

"Wouldn't change anything." Oh good. He was in a mood. Capitalized, underlined, emphasized _mood._

"Yes. How sad is that?" Ben leaned his head back against the chair and stared blankly at the ceiling. "What's the worse sin to you, Hugo? That a man like that might be struck dead by a passing murderer's whim, or that a thousand men will soon find it a little harder to buy _food _because that same fat hobgoblin needs to pad his profit margin this minute rather than next month?"

"I... don't think I'm gonna get into that. Both suck. To, like, epic degrees of suck." He wandered into the kitchen and put his bag down. "But you know... I mean, the guy is bad, but at least he's a guy you know how to work, right? You can probably get him to do something else. Otherwise, it's still killing, which isn't right, and you end up with a new guy, who the heck knows what?"

"The devil-you-know argument."

"Sure, dude."

"They would still starve meanwhile. I could just kill up the food chain." He shifted slightly in the chair, the sound of it reaching Hurley. His tone wasn't particularly serious, finding some amusement in playing on Hurley's worst expectations. Hurley managed to roll his eyes. He could feel the man's bright stare on his back. "Regardless. Most of them aren't that bad, I suppose. It will work out. If it doesn't, we're done here soon anyway." His tone changed. "Have you seen her?"

"Nope. Probably down in the other agro decks or bugging one of the guys." Miles lurked around the station as a tech grunt with the station Gammas, James worked security for their residence wing. Sayid was... well, Hurley didn't know. Nobody had told him. The more things changed... "Hey, uh, you got a preference on this? I can do a primavera or else something with this chicken... gonna be one or the other today and tomorrow, got a nice bird out of the labs." Hurley poked the contents of his produce bag with a finger.

"No." A pause. "I lied, go with the chicken." He chuckled at Hurley's sigh. "I know. I'm being particular."

"I'm getting used to it."

"You poor bastard, Hugo." The voice dripped both sarcasm and sympathy.

~*~

"You like it better with them, don't you?" The girl was wedged into a synth's narrow standby nook along the dirty grey industrial wall, dark eyes glittering out.

Miles stopped tinkering with the Gamma's replacement arm and glanced at her. The Gamma synth itself remained perfectly still, emitting a low, patient hum. "You ever act your age? Get out of there, you'll get stuck." His tone was mild enough; she'd been with the Earthers since she was ten and hadn't had much of a childhood. At least, according to the version of the story he heard. It gave him some moderate sympathy for her. _Runaway. Can't blame her. Hey, your dad's some kinda-immortal evil dude or whatever, but he'll totally pay for your college. Yeah. Look at what happened to Ben's kid._

Ruhi rolled her eyes. "I won't get stuck. It's because you can't hear them when they stop, right? The dead voices. Because they're not human."

"Seriously, kid, you need to learn when to leave people alone." He tossed the small wrench into a nearby bag. "Gimme that screwdriver... no, the one next to it. Thanks. Okay, you. Can you sit for me?" The synth chittered a friendly set of mechanical noises and four limbs lowered it down, crablike and compacted. The fifth rested at its spindly side while the new arm hung limply. Miles gave the narrow, flange-crested head an amiable pat, then shrugged. "It helps, yeah. Lot quieter in space."

"And no one can hear you screaaaaam." That drew a chuckle from him. It had been Hurley's idea to overtake the quarters he shared and inflict a marathon session of twentieth and twenty-first century pop culture on the girl. _Alien _and its bombastic sequel had gone over enormously well. Hell, why not? The industrial tunnels on the lower rings of Themis were pretty similar to the Nostromo's own corridors. It made the film feel weirdly current. Miles looked up to see the teenager grin at him. "We should do that again sometime."

"Depends on if Ben goes out on business again before the tech conference. You let him pick a movie, we're gonna end up watching something like _Rashomon."_

"What's that?"

"It's a flick where this crime happens, and you learn about it from a bunch of different people and they all tell their own version. You have no idea which one's the real story. I bet he loves that one."

She tilted her head. "That sounds more like the real world than anything fun."

"That's Ben."

"Your version of him, though. He'd probably pick something totally random just to confuse you. Like some of those animated movies."

"That would also be Ben." He finished tightening the last screw, nudging the internal sensor gently to ensure that it was firmly in place. "Check that out, big boy. Any better?" The synth rose back up to its full, seven-foot height, unfolding its limbs and balancing delicately. With surprisingly elegant caution, it raised its new limb, curled it in close towards the center of its mass, and then unfurled it with a slow flourish. The synth emitted a soft, pleased whistle. "All right. I'll finish the report, you're good to go back to base. I gotta go work in the con rooms. Can't believe they're using the entire deck." _Not to mention all the extra monitoring crap Vance wants me to try and wire up without anyone catching me at it. Woo. Screw this._ The conference was going to be their best chance to get to John Edom; James had seen his name on the confirmed list of attendees that Sayid had sent a week ago.

Another whir. "Thank you," it hummed in a softer, baritone voice. It wiggled a moment, the effect a little like a fly getting its bearings, and then gently picked its way onto the wall and scuttled down the tunnel and past the pair.

"Maybe I like 'em, but that is still weird to watch." He shrugged.

"They're nice." She grinned. "And Hurley's probably got dinner ready. I should go."

"Alright, kid. Give James a salute for me. And tell Vance to go screw!" Miles turned around to see her off, only to realize she was already gone.

~*~

_Earth – Midcity – Earther Resistance_

The console chittered. It was ready to record. "Alright, sir. Just as I told you, and this'll be the last one." Vance patted Richard on the back. "You've been doing great, and I wanted to thank you personally for your co-operation."

"It'd mean more from your boss." Richard glanced wearily up at the Earther. "I haven't gotten a chance to say hello to her at all during our time together."

"Oh, I don't think it'd be very pleasant for either of you, all told. Best choice."

"I don't have a choice."

"Eh, you do. Just doesn't feel that way, which I can respect. Alright, got your script? Let's do this." Vance flicked the switch and stepped back in the shadows of the little room, well out of sight and near the door.

Richard leaned forward, his face serene. A small scanner recorded his face and voice for later transmission into space. "Hello, John. It's been a few weeks. I estimate you'll get this right before you leave on your trip. Everything's fair here. They still trust me in general, although I feel I'm running out of time. Your daughter is very cautious. I'm going to have to get out of here very soon and when I do, Vance will move. I'm not going to be able to bring Ruhi back, she's too wary. I'm sorry. You taught her well. She sees so much. Ben is... I don't know. Jacob can't seem to take full control very often or very effectively. If he could, they'd be up on Cronus already. But he's been restrained – both by the Earthers and by Ben's will. He's much more aware of what's going on in him, but I don't think he understands entirely. He wears gloves all the time now..."

~*~

_Richard is allowed to watch. It is, after all, his duty. Vance thinks it's funny. So he watches. He kept to a balance between the two, informed for one and protected the other, and now he simply is balance itself. He is no longer permitted a side. He cannot judge._

_ Ben has been kept in isolation for a few weeks, quarantined from the rest. It is the girl's insistence. Ruhi. Richard remembers her. John was so proud; the little girl in the background of some scrap of contact from Cronus, ten years ago. The little girl with the old eyes. Now nearly a woman, she sits on the other side of the clear wall and talks to Ben. Richard can't hear the words, but he can hear the fear in her voice. Ben himself says nothing._

_ It's a test. If Ben can pass this, Ruhi can get them into the sky. John's child holds all the keys; she's the Earther backdoor into the network. She talks to Ben for a long while._

_ Finally Ben nods. He looks tired. His hands, pale and small, rest on his knees as he sits._

_ She touches the clear wall, activating its controls. It slides away. They are face to face for the first time since Vance brought them underground to talk. Ruhi says something. Ben opens his mouth to respond – then freezes. His face changes, becomes serene. It tilts slightly, and smiles, the gentle, familiar smile of Jacob. The small body goes taut, ready to move towards Ruhi. Her eyes are big, but her hand is held in a warning to the Earthers that observe: Watch. Hold._

_ Jacob – and it __is__ Jacob at that moment, it is – begins to rise. And then it happens. It sickens Richard to watch, though he has not cared for the man the broken boy became._

_ The body jerks suddenly. The muscles in the neck tighten. Ben begins to snap his head around, striking it against the steel wall, resisting the usurper claim to his body. Again. And again. The sound is grotesque and heavy. Blood streams from his temple and the eyes are dazed. The body gives up its attempt to move and falls instead. He begins to laugh, hollowly, even as the wound heals._

_ Later, the Earthers are unconvinced. It is Ruhi, the one with the most to fear, who comes to his defense. She says he passes. When Ben is told, he asks only for a pair of gloves. He refuses to look at the girl, who also demands to travel with them._

_ The next week, most of them leave for Themis. Richard stays behind to lie for them and inform to Vance._

_~*~_

Richard paused in his narrative to put his chin in his hand. "Your daughter still calls it an infection, a virus. I can understand why she feels that way. She's always keeping an eye on him, though. Terrified, but always right around the corner, watching. The other men don't seem to understand. Just as well, although they still follow him around." He sighed. "The next vessel up is in a week, after the storm. They might try to be on it, try for Oceanus. It might be time for them to make their move after all." Richard paused, then looked as if he were about to say more. Behind him, the door to the comm room chimed. He turned his head slightly, on cue. "Damn. I need to go. Transmitting-" and he ended the recording. He leaned back. "That's what you wanted."

Vance slunk forward again. "So it was. Very good, Richard, not a single ad-lib."

"You should be careful. He won't necessarily believe me."

"Eh, there's enough truth in there mixed in with the rest to slow him down. Besides, as you say, by the time he sees that, he's on his way to his own death. They'll be awaitin' him."

Richard began to shake his head. "I hope so, Vance. If you're wrong..."

"We're not wrong. Here." Vance handed him a small case. "There's a data unit in that. You'll be giving it to Charles when you see him. Once we know he's gotten it, we'll be transmitting the information more widely."

"Wh..." Richard got up and looked down at Vance. "I..."

Vance smiled lazily up at him. "Never been off Earth. First time for everything."

"Vance, this is my home!"

"Not anymore, sir. We want you gone. You're to Cronus. Be Widmore's pet while it lasts. Maybe he'll kill you, you're the messenger, after all. Not all eyes will shed tears for you."

Stunned and cold all over, Richard looked down at the small case.

"It's a copy of the proof we've been compiling for centuries. The profiteering. The biological atrocities. Eugenics. The _rejuv_ – we know where it all comes from. All the little sins that have been built on. Everything – from the days of Dharma to now. Man's future isn't going to be built on those bones, sir. We're done with the lot of you."

"Vance, you can't-"

"I can, and I damn well have. Ruhi made me promise to let you live. Ain't nobody gonna convince me you need to be here." Vance grabbed Richard's limp hand and stabbed the hypodermic into it. "Sleep good, old prince. When you wake up... it'll all be nigh-over."


	10. Pattern Recognition

_8._

_Pattern Recognition_

_Cronus Station_, _Saturn Orbit_

Beta Three padded quietly down posh hallways filled with somber businessmen, richly dressed socialites, and subtly interwoven security teams. None spared the simply-garbed synth more than a glance; where Three went, so did the words of John Edom. He was familiar. Like furniture, some of them might have said. It did not offend Three. He was understanding of man's slow acceptance of his kind. He was content enough to serve them. It did not occur to him to feel any other way.

The synth paused at a small garden display in the center of the corridor, reaching out a pale hand to touch the spray of anthuriums he had chosen to tend. Sensors in the synthskin palm tested the leaves for precise information on moisture and nutrition levels. Bayesian logic assessed, guessed, and then ultimately judged the plant to be healthy and thriving. He allowed a smile to cross his bland, smooth face for the empathetic benefit of passing humans, a slow and visual representation of his near-immediate contentment with the plant's growth. Then he passed on, moving more quickly to recoup the 3.5 seconds he'd given the visit. Three had decided on a prompt arrival to his charge; to be late would bring personal dismay.

~*~

"Sir." Three murmured the word in low, respectful tones. John did not look at him, so the synth remained still by the lab door. He folded his unblemished hands together and kept his wide, dark eyes to the floor. Research had judged that slightly wider, more childish eyes promoted better empathy with the synthetics, and so his were a fine example. Three could not say whether he fared better than Beta Two, who worked with the security teams as an attendant and whose eyes were set more predatorily. Three waited for a while, his networked mind at relative peace. While he waited for John's attention, he amused himself with alternate possible solutions to several sets of still-debated QM mathematics. He politely ignored the familiar voice of Alpert coming from the console.

Finally, just as his neural pathways were getting really worked up over a recent tweak to Ashtekar's variables – thereby reworking what scientists knew about loop quantum gravity – John finally glanced up from his console to gesture to him. "Betts," he said, his voice friendly. "Sorry to ignore you like that." From the console: _Damn. I need to go. Transmitt- _"Poor Richard. It doesn't seem like he's having a very good time out there."

"No, sir." Three had communicated directly with the Earth male exactly once, many years ago when John had been too busy with his offspring to handle a minor liveconnect update. Richard had been uncomfortable with the synthetic man. Beta Three was, as usual, unoffended. "Is all well?"

"About as well as can be expected." John closed the console and leaned back in his seat, his black suit jacket crinkling lightly. A wide, wolfy smile crossed his face. "How's the packing?"

"It is complete, sir. Your transport is available at your leisure; estimated travel time is two days. I have set aside your favorite tea for the trip, although I still need to compile your work and upload it. I am informed of two visitations on your schedule before you depart. The four men should be waiting in the deck lobby. The other is a recent listing and refused to give specifics. Based on previous appointments, I expect he will simply appear at his leisure. I apologize in advance for his disruption."

"We can make allowances for brilliance, Betts."

"Certainly." Three inclined his head slightly. "Shall I signal your guests?"

"Please. And then some tea, would you? Darjeeling."

~*~

Three was turning from the dispenser console as the four men came in. They were dressed simply, in the khaki and cotton of workmen and ignored him entirely. They sat across from John and spoke in hushed tones together while the synth added a tiny amount of honey to the tea. The men's furtive behavior gave him pause, and he began a temporary internal recording of the meeting in case of threat to Edom. Three placed the teacup by John's hand and stepped aside. He did not leave; he had not been dismissed. But he listened.

"Then you're clear on the task. Be very careful with your presentation; an orgy of evidence is just as faulty as too little. Everyone is already touchy about the Earthers since their Phoebe attack, you have absolutely no cause to overdo it." John tapped insistently on the desk. The men looked insulted.

"We're professionals, John, we're not going to screw this up."

John looked at the man who spoke, short and curly-haired, with an expression clearly unconvinced. "No, you won't. Because if you do, you have no chance of living to regret it." He shook his head and pulled open a drawer of his workdesk. His hand rattled around inside it. "Fine. Take this; no doubt one of them has had the good sense to wire up the con deck for observation. This will help you. Just attach it, activate, and get the hell out of that zone. Safety protocols will take care of the rest. You remember the priority?" The hand emerged with a metal sphere the size of a man's fist. Three did not recognize it and filed the item away as uncategorized. John held it out to the curly one, who took it and handed it over to one of the others to carry.

"The little one taken care of, the others irrelevant."

John interlaced his fingers and rested his elbows on his desk. "Then we have nothing more to talk about. Go on." He watched them depart with a sober expression. "Three?"

"Sir."

"I have been waiting for this for years. The architecture of centuries, built on the fulcrum of hate. People are so predictable when they hate. Easily controlled. And I have all the exits covered." He glanced up at the synth, who looked back at him with a neutral expression. "Erase this conversation."

With a nanosecond's tremor of doubt, Three did as ordered. He idled, waiting for his next request.

~*~

_Themis Station_

From time to time, Ben glanced up from flexscreens of information and scrolling console inputs to see the girl's dark eyes glittering at him from the shadows beyond the desk lamp. This was old custom for them now; he at work at the banal minutiae of his public duty for Tannis, she observing more often than not. He rolled his eyes, very slightly. With any luck, that 'night' – really just the early part of the station's third shift cycle but analogous to early evening – would be his last fussing with paperwork. It might have been a pleasant change to not be stared at.

Time passed. Numbers refused to reconcile. Thoughts of Zelazny made his lip curl and aided a growing sense of irritation. Still Ruhi watched him. Finally he put the flexcreen down and stared at it. "If you're so unnerved by me, you have your choice of things to do and places to be. I certainly have never requested your company."

She shifted a little, apparently surprised by the broken silence. He never spoke directly to her if he could help it. "I'm not scared of you." No defiance, just a simple statement. "I never was. You never asked, but I'm not."

He glanced up at her, blue eyes tired and unconvinced. "Indeed. I seem to remember living in a glass box for a while and then being informed against objections that you would be coming along and staying underfoot. To keep 'watch.' I might consider those to be facts to the contrary."

She shook her head at him. "It's the other one, and my dad, and things to come. That's all I'm scared of. Jacob." She managed to get the name out, spitting it like it burned. "I think he'd hurt me. Not you. Because you don't really do anything since we all got here. Nothing good or bad. You don't even talk to the others, except to Hurley a bit."

"I still scare them, though_._" His voice was bitter. "Understandably." He pushed the flexscreen away and leaned back. After a moment, he ran a gloved hand over his face, covering his eyes. "Go away."

She crept forward instead and sat on the other chair, looking at him curiously, like a bug. He lowered his hand slightly to regard her for a long while. He spoke again. "No one is born a monster. But I have been theirs." The monotone words hung there heavily, like a confession.

"I think my dad was born one. I'm afraid of _him _even more than I'm afraid of Jacob. That's why I ran. I didn't want to be like him. I'm scared of what he is." She poked at the desk with a fingertip.

Ben began to laugh softly. "Then he failed you, and there's one tiny victory I can claim for myself." He leaned forward and gave the girl a crooked smile as she looked back, confused. "At my very worst, Alex never feared me. Angry with me, rebellious, contemptuous... but never fear. I succeeded at that much, but failed the worst of it. She's dead." His face contorted for a split second at the memory of her face and he flicked a gloved hand towards her. For once, she didn't flinch at it. "You're alive. But he's still lost you entirely, hasn't he? He is going to die soon, and you'll be there to know it. Will you cheer?" He narrowed his eyes, thoughtful. She didn't answer. He continued.

"I wonder if Alex would have if it were my corpse. I like to think she might have sorrowed a little bit. I did try to do my best for her. My best just wasn't very good." He closed his eyes and rested his elbows on the desk. "Go away," he said. There was no harshness in his voice now, only soft, plaintive request. "I don't need children staring at me." _No more daughters._ _I don't want this one. Go away._

When he finally opened his eyes again, she was gone. He sighed softly and returned to work, attempting to bury both thoughts and feelings – although a little later, in a fit of pique, he decided he would get at least one thing done after all.

~*~

Three was filling a second cup of Darjeeling when the door chimed and then opened. A man burst through, wild straw hair and a white lab coat. Three marked him as the second appointment, allowed himself a tiny moment of professional irritation, and prepared another teacup for the guest. He watched as John rose to meet the young man with a smile. Before he could utter a greeting, though, the new arrival began a racket. "What the hell is this? What is this?" He shook a note at Edom. "I'm not going to the tech conference? I'm ready to present proof of concept, the project is good for the next phase-"

"Calm down, kid." John raised his hand to try and cut him off. The man refused to be rebuffed.

"I'm not going to calm down, you've been backing this project for ten years and _now _I'm seeing it get shafted. The conference would be great for this thing; I wanted a chance to let Tsuki and Howard take a look at some of my data, see if I've got everything right -"

"You're not far enough advanced on the biology work. The nano's solid-"

"To hell with the nanowork, didn't you even see the new build? It's based on _your _proposal, for God's sake. Your ideas created it. It's a cloud now. A brain cloud, an adaptable AI bonded to microscopic iron beads to give it utility and changing form. It's the Alpha synthetic, Mr. Edom. I've got it in my sight."

Edom smiled lazily. "I saw it, I just liked following the old build to make sure the underpinnings were solid. It sounds like it is, kid, but you've got to catch up on the second project."

The blonde man shook his head and waved off Three when he approached with the second cup. The synth placed it on a counter nearby anyway. "That's easy, it's based on viral structures. I'm constructing it similar to the rejuv complex, although there's a lot of work to be done. It's not playing nice with the nanocultures, though. That part's tricky. Transhumanist watchdogs are still going to panic when the first proofs get published. Clearing rejuv itself was bad enough; this thing could be the fountain of youth. Or a mutation, if it screws up on us."

"I wouldn't worry about them just yet."

"Yeah, well, meanwhile I'm worrying about not going to the tech conference!"

"Kid, don't worry about that, either." John crossed the room and put a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder. "It'll all work out just fine. I want you to focus on this entirely. When we're ready to go live with the project, I promise you, showing up at a tech fair would have given it short shrift. We'll go full press."

The man grinned back, an easy, nearly serene expression that was sharp contrast to the fever he had arrived with. "I owe you a lot, John. The whole project does."

"Don't worry about that too much, kid. You and I are self made men." John gave the scientist the wide, wolfy grin of a man proud of a private joke. "Get back to it, would you?" He patted the young scientist on the back. When he'd left, John picked up the untouched teacup and handed it to Three, who took it wordlessly. "Betts."

"Yes, sir."

"Unpack everything." A cheerful expression broke across John Edom's face. "I forgot to mention. I'm not going to Themis."


	11. Blood Music

(SPOILER ALERT for the story - otherwise it's a note for sensitives or those with triggers that might relate to intense personal risk involving characters they like: An event is put into motion near the end of this chapter that will be resolved in the NEXT chapter. If you are extremely concerned about the outcome of this event, I leave you with the words of the grandfather in The Princess Bride: "She doesn't get eaten by the eels at this time." There will very likely be a similar warning in a coming chapter but with a different outcome. This is not intended to be a deathfic, but this *IS* LOST and we have a story to tell.)

_9._

_Blood Music_

Tannis corp officer Zelazny, plump and resplendent in a fine silver suit, parted from his dinner company just beyond the faux-brick archway of their favorite restaurant with a promise to meet in the morning at the conference check-in. From the corner of his eye, he saw a small, dark-suited shape begin to approach him from one of the deck connection corridors. With a slow, heavy turn of his head, he allowed a polite smile to crease his face. Constant. An unexpected meeting, nor a particularly desired one.

"Zelazny," the man said, his tone pleasant, his hands clasped behind him. "I thought I might pass you."

"So you do, Constant. Third shift finding you well?" His pasta dinner began to settle uneasily. If his stomach gurgled overloud, at least Benjamin declined to notice it.

"Oh, yes. I just wanted to pass on that Phoebe has sent a notice of possibly coming back online sooner than expected. I've sent the brief to your console."

"Good news, good news... still, though." Zelazny shifted his weight. The man had been dour and quiet the last week, more so than usual, and yet now put on this approachable face.

A friendly smile. "Of course. I'm sure we'll figure out something to do about this quarter. A... proactive response." Ben gave a tiny shrug and a chuckle. "Anyway, just out for a walk, was in the area, thought I'd get something done. You know how it is." Zelazny didn't, but he nodded amiably. Benjamin offered his hand to Zelazny to shake, who accepted it on the reflex of the consummate businessman. A small and lizard fragment of his brain realized the hand he gripped was surprisingly warm. The thin, pleasant smile never left Ben's face and he inclined his head politely. "Good night, Zelazny. I'm sure I'll see you at the conference tomorrow."

Dinner gave another lurch, and the fat businessman goosefleshed up his arms and down to the small of his back. Ben let go and stepped away. "Of course, of course," Zelazny managed to mutter to the man's retreating back, his tone still polite. _Food poisoning? _ God, he hoped not.

As he wandered more quickly than usual back to his own private, lush quarters, a thought began not so much to occur to Zelazny as rather it invited itself in, cooked a meal, and began to pay rent. _Of course!_ It was a fine and magnanimous notion. Forego the wage cuts to the Translant workers, perhaps even send some new materials and machines to speed raw production when the refinery normalized. The holidays were coming up anyway – spin a negative into some positive PR, fold in this new report from Phoebe, hold a press conference. _Perfect! _It would put the Tannis-Trimurti relationship back into public eye. That always pumped ISX prices. Everyone would win.

Zelazny became so absorbed with this revelation that he forgot all about the chance meeting with Benjamin Constant – and his ungloved hand.

~*~

James tapped the small silver earpiece he wore with a muttered curse. The sheer amount of last-minute display cabling and gridwork going on in the conference decks were playing havoc with wireless signals and the reports being sent to him kept falling into static. "Repeat that, I'm over by that big Widmore wall display and it's screwing everything up." He spared a glance at Miles, who zipped past him with a carryall full of tech gear. A pair of Gammas followed him carrying the heavier load; the emergency draftees (one set of many, fate merely gave James a recognizable face) bouncing between the skeletons of expansive company booths like frenetic ping-pong balls, on a mission to fix anything and everything. Shouts made his job no easier, losing still more words as new arrivals bellowed hearty greetings to old corp friends or college buddies meeting now as scientists. No sign of Edom.

_God damn, at least in the seventies, people had some sort of volume control on their mouths._ He shook his head and resumed stalking around on his patrol, the neat uniform and his slicked back hair sliding through the sea of people like a ray. With Vance allowing a more splintered-off Earther faction to claim responsibility for the Phoebe thing, everyone was on special alert. Being that he _himself _was benefiting from Earther hijinks made it all that much trickier. It was wearying work, pretending to hunt people like himself and with a higher budget and better toys than the Dharma kids had.

As he reminisced, his patrol took him past the alcove set aside for Tannis officers, and James took brief notice of black-suited Benjamin idling in the shadows while watching the arrivals carefully. Other officers kept distance from him as if by instinct. _That little asshole managed the Dharma gig for years, though. Never a whiff of trouble till that 'purge' thing. Can't believe I helped him when the kid got shot. Can't believe the ol' Iraqi never socked me a good one for that crap, either. And aw, friggin', what the hell are these guys doing to the wall?_

"Hey!" James snapped his fingers at a pair of corp-badged technicians who had just opened up a portion of the wall to gain access to the cabling underneath. God damn. At least, if he remembered right, Miles's ops cabling had been installed several yards further down, just behind one of the less popular displays. Still had been a pain in the ass for the guy, not tripping any security precautions that would have been alerted by diddling around with the cabling. A lucky feat of social engineering meant James had been able to get his nose in on arranging the layout for the conference. It worked as both a relief for Miles and as a security precaution. Which this pair were in violation of. "The hell you think you're doing there, chuckles?" The men looked back up at him, dumb, deer-in-lights expressions on both. "If you need to rig up to power, there's access panels under each of your booths. You shouldn't be screwing around with the walls for any reason."

"Panel's busted, sir."

James gave them his best 'tough shit' grin. "Then we'll get a couple guys over to help it get unbusted. Away from the wall afore I revoke your TOS!"

He led them back towards where they'd come from, passing a nondescript fellow in a workman's khaki jumper. James looked him over and wrote him off as harmless. This man had eyes only for a small power scanner in his hands. Probably just another tech grunt. James collared another team of last-minute troubleshooters and never glanced back.

~*~

The scanner quickly assessed the cabling behind the deck walls, forming a rough layered display. Walking along the wall without touching it, the scanner eventually revealed the start of a small stretch of redundant cabling, a network installed by Miles atop the station's own technology. When activated, it would tap into the aud/vid feeds for the con deck, with a subroutine for facial and sound recognition as provided by Ruhi, all without leaving the sort of backtrail a hack would have left. The tech with the scanner knew or cared about little of that, seeing only the cabling itself, as he had been told there would be. He followed the cabling back to the minor display – unattended at the moment – and shoved the scanner into his jumpsuit's pocket.

With quick, practiced motions, he opened the wall and doublechecked for the extra cabling. Fishing up the small sphere that he and his team had gotten on Cronus, he pressed a small depression on its side and hooked it atop of the network cable. Then he sealed the wall back up and sauntered away, looking like a man who knew what he was doing. No one gave him more than the barest glance as he rejoined his three companions.

~*~

Inside her spartan, impersonal bedroom, Ruhi was transfixed by a rapidly scrolling display of ship information – registry codes, who was docked, who was docking, who was still arriving, delayed ships, cargo inventory, confirmed passengers, and canceled passengers. Her gaze flicked along the data streams, making rapid judgements and looking for gaps in her intel while her fingers moved rapidly along the consoles, cross-correlating. Her lips were pursed very tight. The private Widmore CEO corp vessel previously confirmed by Sayid to be arriving was not hinted at anywhere in the data.

A secondary screen idled, awaiting the start of input from the illicit con deck network. It made a soft bleep as it relayed some unexpected interference. Startled, the girl tore herself away from her primary and glanced at this new information.

Ruhi slapped both consoles shut, grabbed her traveling bag – the only thing of her own she clung to – and threw open the door, screaming. _"HURLEY!"_

~*~

Inside the now-sealed deck wall, the small sphere disassembled a small portal in its side, allowing a thick, white material to extrude out for several feet. It coiled, ropelike, until the sphere was emptied of it all.

Plastique.

The malleable explosive began to thin itself out into narrower, longer strings, directed by a programmed nanoculture to coil itself around the network installed previously by Miles. This meant the hard part, not alerting station security to a foreign object in its internal structure, had already been done for John's hirelings. It was not enough to keep from tripping the sensors Ruhi had insisted on being added for her own monitoring.

When the entirety of the network had been wrapped and molded, the sphere compacted in on itself and fell with a soft _thunk!, _rolling a handful of feet away to land against a deck support strut.

The network, now a shaped charge that had no hope of breaking the hardened bulwark that kept the emptiness of space outside, blew within seconds. It exploded out into the conference deck, shrapnel shredding the nearest and, luckily, empty booths. More splintered metal flung out, harming a handful of nearby technicians and bringing terrified screams in the wake of the sound of the blast. Smoke filled the conference deck and people began to flee, their hands clasped against ringing and sometimes bleeding ears. To their credit, they did not stampede. They filed out into the station proper, alerts blaring from all decks of the unexpected assault. Many went hurriedly to the relative safety of the residence decks – hardened against all but the worst of explosives. Visiting scientists and technicians retreated to the vessels they had arrived on. Some, more panicked, moved to the portage decks for news of evacuation.

As the conference hall emptied of men and safety systems began to clear away the smoke, they were replaced by a matched set of station security agents and a small pack of emergency-ready Gammas. They cautiously swept into the room, ready for more threats, searching for further dangers. They would be too slow.

Inside Edom's metal sphere, a new set of processes began. Sensors monitored the sphere's surroundings, waiting for the completion of a new countdown. There was still a little time, but not very much. The core of the device disassembled itself and then reassembled again around a now-revealed, tiny core of very dense and devastatingly fissile material. Unlike the shape charge that now caused a distracting panic for the four professionals sent out from Cronus, this would ultimately cause real destruction_._

John Edom would never leave a loose end if he could help it. This was a hedged bet.

~*~

"Miles? Ben!" James screamed into the uncooperative console. There was no answer from Hurley or Ruhi, no response from anyone. Ben had vanished from sight when the crowd began to surge and Miles... James hoped Miles hadn't been anywhere close to the blast. Meanwhile, frustration ruled him. He banged on the wall with a white-knuckled fist, looking back and forth up the hallway as people fled past. "Son of a bitch!"

"Ford!" James immediately jerked at Ben's distant voice; a level of tension present in it that he hadn't heard since Widmore's mercenaries had shown up on the island. Forever ago. James scanned the crowd but didn't see the small man. _"Ford! RUN!"_

"Or not," hissed a milder voice from behind him. Something jabbed him in his side. James looked down to see the muzzle of a weapon pressed against his ribcage. He didn't look up at the face. No point. "Easy, buddy. Hey, Mr. Linus! Might want to get over here before this gets messy!"

_Fuck that, son. I ain't relying on him._ James immediately fell back, landing his full weight on the man. The surprise move crushed the gun flat and pinched the man's hand still. Not content with that much, he rolled over and smashed his forehead into his attacker's startled face.

Gloved hands grabbed James and helped to haul him upright with surprising strength. "The idea of running still applies!" hissed Ben into his ear from close range. James jerked his head up to see three more men in khaki jumpsuits beginning to hustle fast towards them. The gloved hands continued to tug at him, pulling in the other direction. There was still no sign of anyone else.

"Don't tell me twice," James got out, turning to follow Ben. Shots cut the air next to him, blasts of small-bore rounds and coilgun energy with enough power to kill a man without damaging the inside of a ship or station.

They fled.

~*~

Ruhi was already in the private Tannis-Trimurti wing of the first portage deck, waiting for them. Her hands wrung and knotted against each other. Hurley was on board the small, relatively easily automated ship they'd used to arrive and that Ben used for business. It was idling gently, engines heating up. All was so far according to a prearranged plan of escape. Hurley poked his head out as James and Ben burst onto the deck past startled corp employees. "Dudes! What in the-"

"Never mind that," snapped Ben. He pointed at Ruhi, never slowing down. "Miles, any contact?" She shook her head at him. "John?"

"He didn't come!" That stopped him in his tracks and he stared at the girl, still yards away from the entrance of the private ship. James glanced at them both and swept by, shoving past Hurley into the vessel. "He knew and he didn't come!"

Ben swore. Behind him, "Dude, we're not leaving without Miles!" Gloved hands clenched and he whirled as their chasers arrived. More shots filled the air, missing unlucky corp men and glancing off the ship's doorframe. Hurley shouted something incomprehensible and James ducked further inside. Ruhi shoved Ben, heavily, and he fell back. A shot scorched the air where a second ago his head had been. _Heal __that__ one, Jacob,_ jeered an otherwise shocked mind. Then he realized Ruhi was screaming at the three men.

"Don't make me fight!" Her voice was shrill and veins stood out on her neck. "Please don't make me fight you!" Her screams meant nothing as the men continued to advance, recharging their weapons for another assault.

"What the fuck, kid?" bellowed James. "Get in here! Ben, get your fucking ass off the floor and _move!"_

He couldn't. He stayed frozen, either by having had his life saved or by the sight of watching a girl try to scream down men sent to kill. He stayed frozen even as Ruhi once more opened her mouth as if to shout -

And then night fell from her lips and went running.

~*~

The girl was gone; the thing remained. The men watched it, horrified, struck by cold familiarity and rising terror. It crackled and rose, energy shooting through what seemed like thick, black smoke. Gunfire cut through it to no effect and it – _she? _- expanded for a moment and then solidified somewhat into a ropey train of darkness that struck out at one of their attackers. There was a scream, and then nothing. The body fell into a limp pile as the others fled.

The monstrosity roared and crackled again, sounds rattling around inside of it and then gave chase.

"Holy fucking _God!"_ rose the screams. The darkness coiled around the slower of the pair, compacted, and let the corpse fall. From around a corner came Miles at last, eyes widened as a version of the jungle nightmare caught up to the final man and ended him. _I'm out!_ screamed his mind, seeing the lightning storm within the monster as it rose from its kill. The blackness swirled up as if to regard him, and then pulled away to retreat. The rest of his thoughts scrambled apart even as he backed up and disappeared again into the screaming crowd.

~*~

"She said she was his daughter," Ben said to no one through numb lips. "She said we were going to kill him." He laughed once, a hollow and knocking sound. "How exactly were we going to do that? If _that _is the child, what is the man? I should have asked. I should have asked." Feeling nothing, he got up and walked calmly into the ship past a sagging Hurley without looking at him. Ahead in the cockpit, James slapped at consoles, preparing the final steps to undocking. "Stupid me. I always make one small mistake. I allow an _assumption, _and here we are." His blue eyes refocused on the larger man. "Hugo?" He put a gloved hand that hung in empty air just inches away from the other man, then turned his head once more as Ruhi – whole and human again – stepped onboard.

James jerked away from the console's boarding alert to stand in the cockpit's doorway and regard her, his face tight and pale. "I'm not going to hurt anyone else! I swear!" she wailed at him. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then slammed it shut again and ducked back to try and pilot a ship he barely understood. The door thunked shut and began to seal.

"Miles? What about..." whispered Hurley. He was still slumped heavily against the wall.

"I don't think he's coming. I scared him." Her face crumpled as she turned towards the pair. "Oh no!"

Hurley smiled up at his white-faced friends as he continued to slide towards the floor. Blood had begun to seep through fingers that grabbed his side. He turned his head a little to look at Ben. "I told you I wouldn't hurt anyone, dude."

Benjamin, jerked out of his numbness by rising panic to grab at Hurley, could only slow the gentle giant's descent to the floor as the ship undocked and sped up. He began to tug at his gloves, mouthing the word _no _over and over. _Not for me! None of this for me! Jacob!_

~*~

"Hey, look at this!" A security agent pushed away a small amount of plastic and steel rubble to put his hand on the metal sphere left behind. "Get one of those Gammas over here," were his last shouted words as the device poured out a near-instantaneous crackle of heat. The pressure of the blast blew outward this time, breaking a support strut and leaving the conference deck exposed to space as the outer bulkhead peeled away. Agents and Gammas fell into darkness to die while the station's safety protocols came alive and began to seal off its sucking wound before it could kill the entire population. As quick as it was, it would still take time. Walls slammed down into place and new klaxons blared down hallways as the environment struggled to normalize. Damage would be done to docked ships as the station was nudged slightly out of orbit by the pressure of the blast. Those that had just undocked were sent blaring warnings of collision, themselves seeing only the white flash from the side of the station.

Now men panicked and stormed into sheltered areas, elbows flying and feet kicking. Miles Straume ducked a flailing woman and tried to get his bearings. A piece of his mind still whirled at what he'd just seen, but the muted sound of the explosion took a greater priority. The tech lobbies would be safe, he knew. He just had to get to them. It would be difficult in the crush, but he thought he saw a path and went to it, finding himself cut off by a sealing wall. He swore, turned to face the grand concourse of the station that went up and down every deck, an open cylinder or central balcony, and saw a sight he might have regarded as impossible.

Gamma synths flooded out of maintenance halls and nooks on every deck he could see from his vantage. They grabbed up fallen men and women and carried them, gently, in cradled mechanical arms out of harm's way. Others began to part crowds and slow stampedes, their metal bodies capable of restraining the physical stress the humans tried to press on them. Despite their fear, the raging sea of frightened humans slowed, herded into something approaching sanity. A line of insectoid synths began to form at the protocol walls, chirping musically at people so they wouldn't scrabble fruitlessly at sealed paths. One came up behind Miles and chirped a smooth baritone into his ear. "Help? Station Hive needs maintenance. All hands. Hive frightened and damaged. Help."

Feeling like he had found something useful to be, Miles turned towards the Gamma and followed it towards a different destiny.


	12. Iron Council

_10._

_Iron Council_

The collision alarm shrieked throughout the vessel. James tried to keep control, overcompensated, and nearly wound up shorting out an engine. He swore, vibrant language, eyes wide and unblinking as the console that told him the distance between ship and station wavered between numbers too close and too distant. "That ain't right. Something happened, that ain't right. I'm not that shitty a pilot. Something going on at the station." No one responded to his tirade and he spared a risky second to look over his shoulder at the doorway. "Everything all right back there?"

"No," came the small, thin voice of Ruhi. "No, it isn't."

"What happened, kid?" He caught himself, remembered the black thing, then winced. _She'd helped, right? She really is just a kid. Right?_

"Hurley's really bleeding."

His breath caught. He covered the sudden rush of worry with a snarl. "Then get Ben to fix him!" _Shit, he fixed Sayid, this ain't no different. _Then he heard her begin to cry.

James bared his teeth. He couldn't leave the controls yet. All he could do was hope.

~*~

_Jacob, you son of a bitch, wake up. Wake up. Do something._ Unconcerned with the blood that stained his bare hands and the legs of his pants, Ben knelt next to the now-unconscious Hurley. His fingertips scrabbled at the edges of the scorched wound, opened the man's eyes to check for signs of life. He spared no glance for Ruhi, who hovered close, watching, eyes filling with tears. His actions were trained and rational. His mind was chaotic. _Why isn't he healing? You let me toy with a ridiculous fat man but not this?_

An itch built itself at the base of his skull. As if from the deeps, he got a rare and direct answer. _I don't need him anymore._

"You bastard," he blurted under his breath. _Is that how it is? With both of you? All your plans to the battle's call and damn the soldiers to hell. Is that it? The other one used me to get to you. You just use._

Dead silence within. It was all the answer he needed. All the answer for decades of his life, decades of pain received and that he himself had given. In Jacob's name. He went cold all over, rage and frustration and bitter futility. He wanted to scream. They were all just pawns for some pair's game. His breath hissed in and his fingers clenched on a piece of Hurley's shirt. The man didn't stir. His breath came in soft rattles.

"He won't help." Ruhi's voice asked no question. He shook his head. "Force him."

"I'm unable to, I don't have that much control." His voice was cold as he looked up when she stepped closer. "He's closed off."

"It's your body. He can't do anything without you. Make him."

"I don't know how." Ben looked at her twisting, scared face as it streaked with tears. They looked real enough to him. "Hugo is going to die." He rested his hand on the oozing wound and sighed.

"All I can do is hurt or force. All my dad ever taught me. I can work machines."

He made a soft noise. "Then help me force Jacob. If you can do that."

Ruhi took a deep breath, exhaled. "It's going to hurt." She leaned down and put her hand on his. Then the hand went _through _his, the fingers and palm disappearing in a puff of darkness. The sensation was alien, icy cold, like a thousand needles jetting through his skin and up his arm. He jerked as if electrocuted. His breath hissed in pain, then the sensation lanced through his mind, finding resistance. Ben just barely managed to keep from screaming as an eardrum popped and the world went mute. Blood dripped from his ear, and then almost immediately it healed and he could hear again.

His fingers spasmed around Hurley's injury and then, against his expectation, it began to shrink as flesh knit itself back together in a fresh pale patch. The rattle left Hurley's breathing and he began to sound as if he were only sleeping. Color began to return to his face.

Incomprehensible rage began to build within him, thoughts of revenge, images of vindictiveness – all Jacob's. _So. Jacob could hate._ Ben's ear panged, still sore. Exhaustion rose in him. _Hate all you want. I'm done with you._

Still more silence from his passenger. He thought for a while, then began to laugh, a realization starting to strike. He was done with Jacob. He was starting to understand. Ruhi sagged to the ground next to him, looking exhausted.

~*~

Now several miles away from the station, James pulled the ship's velocity to zero and let them list for a few. He tried to get a report on what the hell had happened back at the undocking, though his unfamiliarity with the ship made it slow going. The cockpit used a display in place of a window, to cut on radiation but to soothe claustrophobia and allow a view. A similar pair were along the insides of the ship, for similar reasons. It would have recorded automatically. Meanwhile, afraid of the answer, he called over his shoulder. "What's the situation like back there?"

Ben answered him. "Hugo is fine."

Relief tingled through him. "Took you long enough, short stuff."

A strange, wild laugh. "Yes, yes it did." _Great, Gollum's going off the deep end_. He reviewed the recording.

"Aw, holy hell. Holy goddamn hell. You guys probably want to look at this. Kid, can you pull up what I'm looking at back there?"

~*~

Ruhi got up from the floor and tapped at the console that controlled the wall displays. On one, she managed to access the footage from the cockpit zone. It was a live feed, and showed a massive space station with a gaping wound in one of its rings. "Oh my god."

Ben looked up, then rose to his own feet to get a better look. "That wasn't the bomb we saw," he said mildly. The girl shook her head. "Second one. Covering tracks."

"Or leaving more." That came from James. "Kid, this feed. This ain't any good."

Ruhi tapped again.

_"This... is INN. Breaking news from Themis Station – Earther terrorists are being blamed for the worst attack on corp interests in a hundred years. Early estimates of the dead number in the hundreds, and quick action on the part of station protocol programming and the local synth response teams are being credited with saving the lives of thousands more-" _The voice rambled on, unheard. The display pulled back and showed footage that another ship had recorded. First the station – immense, a thick construct that rotated to create gravity for the half a dozen rings that formed its outer and inner decks. Then the flash, a shockwave of white that blared for a second out the side of it and dissipated. This was what they'd felt on undocking. Shrapnel still radiated out from the wound, objects in motion still in motion. Some would enter the gravity of Mars and fall. Much of it would just continue until the last kinetic energy was expended.

"And they're saying it's our fault," Ruhi's voice was bitter.

"It isn't?" murmured Ben. His face looked tired, previous rage drained and leaving weary contemplation behind. He reached out to touch the screen, his face reflected in it over the footage of destruction. She stared at him. "We didn't set it. But it happened for us. Your father is just so thoughtful." He sat back down next to the sleeping Hurley and picked up his discarded gloves. He glanced back up. "How exactly did you think we were going to get to him back there? To stop him? It appears _our _plan had a critical flaw. I'm making a certain assumption here."

"What assumption?" Her voice was careful.

"That he is not human either." Ben's voice remained in that gentle monotone.

Ruhi turned away from him. "No."

~*~

_Cronus Station_

Sayid Jarrah pressed a keymark on the administrative console of Hanna Cafe's kitchen, accepting a request to pick up some Earth-shipped goods from a delivery ship arriving at Widmore's private docking area. The restaurant had been granted limited access to the dock for purposes of delicate deliveries and this small perk made surveillance on the movements of both Widmore and John Edom much easier for him. There had been a burst of gossip he'd picked up from his contacts on the station, something about a Navy transport vessel arriving and using the dock. It was a relatively rare occurrence, and so he thought he might go and take a look. The Earthers might find even small trivia useful.

He breezed through Widmore's private security checkpoints, the staff familiar with his face and scanners doing the rest. Arriving at the dock found a small press of people, a dozen or so men and women from private kitchens pushed back while naval soldiers in stark uniforms stood guard on either side of the ship's hatch. Their faces were stoic and they held lasrifles at the ready. Not unusual behavior. Sayid remained at the back of the group and then stepped back once into the deeper part of the hall when Edom himself came into view. The man spared no glance for the waiting crowd, and for that Sayid allowed himself a breath of relief. The group continued to chatter impatiently, further ensuring that he could hear nothing else.

Edom conferred with one of the soldiers, gesturing now and again to emphasize some point or another. After a few moments, another figure arrived; the smooth form of one of the Beta synths. Sayid assumed it was Three, John's assistant, and watched it wait by the man's side for some task. The Beta dipped its head politely at a word from Edom and moved ahead down a corridor towards where Sayid knew Widmore kept private holding cells, ostensibly for domestic and immediate issues. He had doubts.

Eventually, a figure was drawn out from inside the transport vessel, dark pants and a deep burgundy shirt. A dark sack was over his head and his arms were locked behind him. The naval guard began to march him toward the cells, the man's gait familiar. Sayid rose his head slightly to get a better look.

_Alpert?_

His expression didn't change, but his insides tensed as the ship undocked and the crowd prepared to receive their deliveries. John's refusal to depart for the tech conference had been his first alert that plans had been changed for them, and he had tried to send a warning to Vance. Odds had been good that two days would not be enough for the warning to be acted on, and as he left the dock with his deliveries it was with a sinking stomach that he saw INN's breaking news about Themis on a corridor screen.

_Something has gone very wrong._

Sayid could only hope that Hurley, James, and the others had gotten out alive. He disappeared into the corridors to see what gossip and bribery could tell him.

~*~

Charles Widmore marched into the corp council chamber like the fires of Hell rode with him. The room was full; station administrators, local corp chiefs, officers from station security, executors of private Widmore security, and Charles's own advisory council – save John Edom, who had alerted him that he needed to handle a security issue at the Widmore dock. Five other men and women formed this closest circle, although even they were less trusted than Edom. The walls were full displays, and each display showed the face of another administrator or corp officer, top executives from Oceanus and Tethys, officers of Rhea. All Widmore. One screen was left dark and keyed to the intercorp network to speak with Themis.

Charles settled in his chair like a king at war, glaring at the whole of his lands. "I've been seeing the report. What are the updates? Current damage first. No more dead, I hope."

One of the senior executives, Caropresi, answered. "Casualties at Themis have stood at three hundred and seventy six dead, a few hundred more injured. Mostly tech or local workers in that zone trying to assess the repair, plus the security. None of our people, thank God. Fourteen scientists, including Zahi Howard. There'll be a press conference on that. Remarkably, very few civilians. The situation is developing with quite astonishing smoothness."

"The Gammas." Charles allowed an irritable grunt. "They're prioritized that way, as I understand it."

"Yes, still-"

Charles cut him off, uninterested in the subject. He turned his head to address one of his advisors, a woman named Turunen who still clung to her family's Finnish accent. It was a quirk that endeared her to him. "We've sent a public statement of support and condolence, correct?"

"Absolutely; we've already spoken to the Navy ship squad on its way to help support. We'll be undertaking some of the financing. If that's acceptable to you, of course." She gestured to another man, dressed in the uniform of security, who unpeeled from the wall and placed a flexscreen on the table.

"Of course it is. What's that, then?" Charles jutted his chin at the device.

"Security report, sir, the one you asked for. Your concern has been verified." The man stepped back as the corp CEO allowed himself a mutter. A notation in his data registry had been sent by his order to station security.

"I don't give my approval for vessel launches. Makes no sense." He picked it up and gave it a cursory scan. Four men departed Cronus two days prior on a Widmore corp vessel with his registry giving permission, the ship was then left abandoned at Oceanus. The rest of the information detailed ship departures, flight crews... "I was told we'd heard something more."

Mitsuda, one of the station executives, spoke up. "We've received a private report from Themis of three dead. Not as a result of the incident, not a lot of detail there. They're being closemouthed over it. A fourth is in custody. He isn't talking, but he's confirmed to be one of these four men leaving our station. We haven't verified the other three due to the silence, but security considers it a strong likelihood." One of the uniforms nodded at the words.

Charles put down the flexscreen and ran a hand over his face. The other officers watched him carefully. "Thanks to this quirk in the information, now it appears as if we – or specifically _I _- have involvement." He shook his head. "Clearly I do not, nor do I share my access." This was true. He didn't even entrust his codes to John. His innocence, meanwhile, was plain; security had already verified that he had not been approached by these four – as best as they could, the private corp wings were kept _private_. Edom had arranged for their own security and monitoring. Nonetheless, without consulting his advisors, Charles had ordered full co-operation between the two forces. John, ever tactically concerned, would frown on it later, but to hell with it. Charles didn't care for being implicated, for whatever reason. He had long since wearied of such games.

Another man spoke up from the far end of the table. His corp badge indicated that he liaised with security. "We're investigating the Earther terrorist links jointly with Themis. Security and Navy are suggesting that they piggybacked your information to make it look like Widmore was behind the Themis attack." The man shrugged. "It's looking plausible that someone off-station used your network ID and routed the men through here. Deckard from EIN is hunting through the data."

"He's a paranoid; shadows 'round every corner." Charles sat in his chair and thought, unoffended that he would remain under investigation until security was convinced. "Earthers aren't claiming responsibility. They generally do."

"This is a lot bigger than their usual thing, sir." Caropresi again. Charles grunted mildly and turned his thoughts inward, looking at plans and possibilities while his council began to confer amongst itself. _Nonetheless, these four men came from here and went there. What were they doing there? Why were they here? Why do we have so little of a trail, and why does it seem to connect to me? _Absently, his gaze wandered over the ship data. _John called off going to the conference. Unusual for him. Unusual timing. And an unusual docking in our bay. I trust you, John. But as ever, questions._

_ Trust does not mean I will be a fool._

As if on cue with his thoughts, a quiet signal flashed to let him know that Edom wished to talk. He excused himself from the council and went into his office to take the voice-only connection.

~*~

John Edom lounged in the doorway of the holding cells, empty but for the new captive, himself, and Beta Three. A small data unit waggled among John's fingers, pausing only for a moment when a light flashed green to let him know Charles had connected. _"Yes, John."_

"Charles! How goes the emergency session? I've been following the news in between form-filing over here. Rotten mess of it." Not rotten enough. He'd calculated for more structural damage to the dock, but no, it seemed that more than a few ships had gotten away unscathed. The rest were trapped at Themis pending structural testing. The station, at least, would be deadlocked for a while. If not as dead as he'd hoped for.

_"Very rotten. Security's tracing a few leads. Unfortunately, some of those leads seem to come from us." _

John's expression never changed, but shock tinged his voice. The data unit continued to be fiddled with. "My god. That's terrible – the data breach you mentioned?"

_"And more." _John waited for the expansion of detail, the four men he knew would be found on Themis, but it didn't come. _Still cagey, Charles. Very good. "What's going on down there, John? Further security breaches?"_

"Not at all. Navy caught a small arms dealer or what have you in proximity, they're processing him through here. With the heightened alert, I thought I'd make sure everything went smoothly.

_"Mmm. They're using our holding."_

Edom gave a shrug, the nonchalance carried over into his voice. "Next Navy vessel is due to patrol by in about three days. They had a security concern, I answered for them. Not so unusual, really."

_"Mm."_ John narrowed his eyes at the sound, widening them again as he dismissed it as distracted thoughtfulness and not new distrust. Three idled, watching the captive.

"I'll have Betts keep in touch with them over it. Meanwhile, why don't we catch some supper and talk about this thing at Themis." John shook his head, letting disbelief into his tone. "I can't believe it. Just can't believe it. If I hadn't canceled..."

_"Why did you cancel?" _Still no distrust in the voice, but the question came sharp and quick. John allowed himself an extra moment to be sure of his response.

"I've been overseeing a couple very personal projects over in the R&D. Synth advancement and biology, thought I'd stay local this year and be a cheerleader."

_"I see." _ A pause. _"Supper sounds fine, John. Hanna Cafe, then? When we adjourn."_

"Certainly!" He clicked off and turned to smile at his captive. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to have something sent down for you, too."

"Glad you're thinking of me." Richard refused to look at him.

"Mm. Little late to argue bargains, Ricardus. Very late, honestly. What's in the unit? I know you had a little time to look at it in the ship before I had you picked up. Was it supposed to go to Charles? A little bit of blackmail from back home?"

No response.

"Pity it won't get to him. He'd have enjoyed the choicer bits, and by enjoy, I mean he would be very, very upset to find out what he's started." John clicked his tongue. Still no response. No fun whatsoever. He crushed the data unit in his fist, the first step he'd make in destroying it. "Oh, well. Betts?"

"Yes?" The synth turned slowly to regard his master.

"Privacy first."

"Of course, sir. Shall I make the reservations at the Cafe?"

"By all means."

~*~

Ben waited while Hurley groaned and stirred awake. He remained where he was, seated on the floor, regloved hands clasped patiently in his lap. He watched Ruhi pace around the hold like a trapped animal, while James waited in the cockpit doorway. Considering the girl's nature, Ben would have said everyone had adapted to her continued presence with surprising speed. On the other hand, considering history, perhaps it was simply their lot's weary due. The ship moved at a slow pace towards Oceanus Station, a default while matters were under discussion.

"Dude. Dude, someone tell the guy with the nailgun to knock it off in my head." His voice was thick.

"Takes a while, Hugo. It seems to me, based on previous experience, that being mostly dead confers something like a particularly vile hangover." Ben quirked a thin, lopsided smile while the larger man gave him a look. Picturing Ben hungover, much less drunk beforehand, was probably the third impossible act of the day. "Besides that, how do you feel?"

"Like I'm going to puke."

Ruhi disappeared into a doorway and came back with a glass of water. She held it out to Hurley, who just looked at it and and at her. She grimaced. "It's fine."

"It's not, like, magic smokey water of death or anything?"

"Water. From a dispenser."

Hurley cautiously took it from her, while casting a glance at Ben's bland face as if looking for a second opinion. He didn't get one. "...Alright." He sipped, then swallowed, the gulp audible. His eyes squinched shut, then opened again. "Think it's water."

"Ugh!" The girl crossed her arms and flopped down on the ground onto her butt.

"Well, you have to grant everyone a moderate amount of paranoia. Given the circumstances."

Ruhi stared at Ben in response to his droll monotone. "I'm not my father." She drooped her head, then followed it up with a shot. "Was Alex anything like _you_?"

It connected. Lips pursed tightly for a second, eyes blazing anger at her, then the face smoothed back over into unreadability. "No. No, she was not."

"A pair of family stories ain't a statistic, kid." James shifted where he leaned. "So we set all this up without a plan of attack that'd have worked, and now we're fucked in space with some sort of... baby smoke monster thing."

"I am not a thing!" She pulled her knees up. "I had a plan."

"It would be nice if you shared it." Ben watched her. "Oh, do let me guess. We were bait." She closed her eyes tightly and dropped her head farther. "We lure him out and you... you were going to do what?"

"Dude, she wasn't going to-"

"I was going to pulse an electrical charge through the deck. A very strong one, at a very specific frequency. Like an EMP." Her voice was flat and dead. It was Hurley's turn to stare at her. Ben didn't stir. "It shouldn't have hurt anyone. Maybe some Gammas would have needed to be re-aligned and I felt bad about that, but it shouldn't have hurt you. It would have interfered with his synapse cloud network." She pushed her hands out in front of her like splashing water. "Pew! And he would have fallen into black dust, completely fried." She sighed. "And that would be the end of it. The whole stupid thing. He doesn't get to send himself back, the island doesn't get blown up, everything would be over. His stupid pet projects and his stupid pet scientists would just be useless."

"There'd still be you." There was no threat in Benjamin's voice.

"And now you know how to kill me. I'll give you the frequency you need. " She did. "I'm sorry. The Earthers never knew what I am. I never told anyone because I didn't want to be a_ thing_." Ben continued to look at her with that same bland expression. Hurley shook his head and laid back down.

"Okay, kid. So now what? We go back to Earth or what? Because if we stick around out here too long, someone's gonna pick us up. This card game is shot to shit, the dealer's got all the aces. Anyone got a suggestion?" James gave a sarcastic grin. "Cause I'm feeling partial to hiding out somewhere kinda nice and watching my fingernails grow."

Ruhi cocked her head to look at him. "We won't make it back to Earth. He's going to watch now, see if we got out. He'll expect that, it's sensible and anything else is pretty risky for us. Probably meant what happened at Themis to be worse. We got lucky. They upgraded their recovery protocols not all that long ago, I think he actually hadn't known." James rolled his eyes as if to say_ of course. "_Yes. I have a suggestion, but I understand if no one wants to listen to me anymore. I blew it." She grabbed at her knees and didn't look anyone in the eye.

"We go on to Cronus and take our chances directly." The monotone. Ruhi blinked at Ben, surprised by the correct guess, then nodded. "Yes. That sounds fine. Ending this sounds just fine." He tilted his head slightly. "I think Ruhi should pilot now, James. Is that all right?"

"Dude, we'll get caught the second we get within range."

Ben shrugged. "So? I'm sure we'll find a way out from there." He smiled a little. "I think someone should get a message to Sayid. And then I am going to take a nap." The lip quirk. "I have some things to work on."


	13. Glory Road

_11._

_Glory Road_

_ He found himself precisely where he wanted and under the circumstances he chose – the Barracks dock, at sunset, with the homes softly lit in the distance and at peace. Shadows shifted inside them, and if he had wanted, they might be dreampeople and not just shadows – Tom, alive and bombastic, holding forth on various topics; Juliet laughing and ignoring him, he'd decided he'd have preferred to not exist for her in this place rather than be hated; Bea and her coffee; Mikael and his ludicrous tales of Russian bar brawls. Long gone Horace, rambling around the grounds like the ghost he was. Not tonight._

_ Gradually he had retaken control of his dreams, cautiously, allowing the nightmares to continue until he was certain that his mind could be his again. Now he was. Events had given him a taste of Jacob's frustration, and Ben thought he saw a truth behind it. To be an artisan of lies, he had to know truth when he saw it. Truth was often found in fear, and fear often birthed frustration._

_ Jacob sat at the end of the dock, facing the water. Bare feet dangled but did not swing. He sat, stoic, with no regard for Ben. No doubt he was unhappy to be here and not in his own place of peace. Ben allowed himself a taste of childish glee at the other man's discontent. He was ready._

_ Ben put his hands in his pockets – young hands, very young, and the hoodie was grey and tattered – and ambled to the end of the dock. He sat down next to Jacob in his old linens and his feet did swing, laces dangling from the squeaky old tennis shoes. The glasses he wore slipped and he pushed them, corners repaired by tape, back up his nose without knowing he was doing it._

_ "Of course you're a child in your own dreams." Jacob broke the silence and for a moment the dreamplace grew that much darker. "Grow up, Ben."_

_ Ben didn't say anything in response for a long while. The shot was a good one; it struck deep and he knew it. He focused elsewhere instead. The sound of lapping waves grew louder and music began to waft from the homes. Someone was playing Rachmaninoff. Another tactic, then. "It's always about starting over, Jacob. Then we make the same mistakes, trapping ourselves in fixed moments. Nietzsche's greatest weight. Is that what we're heading for, the same mistakes?"_

_ "He has to be stopped or we will see the same mistakes." Jacob shrugged. "Everything else is just details. You know, I always knew you'd kill me. I remembered."_

_ Ben let this small mystery go. "What is he? What are you? No more games, just tell me."_

_ Jacob lifted his head slightly and watched the unmoving sun set forever. His voice took a lecturing tone, clinical and precise. A scientist's voice. "Project Alpha, the aleph, from which all other projects start and are seen. One half was the evolution of AI advanced problem-solving, survival, and adaptation. A step towards technological singularity. Cloud AI, nearly intangible unless it chooses a form. The goal of the Alpha synthetic is to become more human than human, using its abilities to help better us, to see the flaws that we cannot. A guide to the future, to keep the future right. Or so we were told."_

_ "That sounds like it didn't work out very well for everyone involved. John's not much of a guide. __Alpha, what's the other half?"_

_ "Me."_

_ A flash of irritation entered his child's voice. "Explain."_

_ "A new viral rejuv. Very advanced nanobiology. I called it the fountain of youth."_

_ "Managed that much."_

_ "Richard was a byproduct, he became necessary later. At first it was an accident, a convenient misstep when he came to the island. The nanoculture overproduces throughout the bloodstream and houses in the brain mass, the virus component keeps it in check and keeps the organic system active and challenging the nano. Balance. This rejuv repairs the cellular structure, halts aging. A full rejuv culture in residence means potentially fatal damage can be repaired. Previous rejuv on the market only slowed aging for up to forty years and then the culture dies off. Adds maybe a century of extra life, if administered early. Touch has a side effect, the nanoculture influences the touched individual by implanting suggestions from the host mind into a 'seed,' a small corps of nano that infects the contact. We didn't plan for that. It adapted. A different seed corps is also capable of repairing the contact when damaged, but takes a much higher energy cost from the host. You are sleeping many hours as we talk."_

_ "Why has this been referred to as an infection?"_

_ "Dermal contact has a temporary effect only. The rejuv culture itself transmits by blood to blood, mimicking infection. It's where the research stalled, delivery of the rejuv not publicly viable. To share the culture properly would resemble a blood ritual. Transhumanists would have balked."_

_ Ben leaned back, remembering Jacob's fall. Remembering the knife and the blood. No doubt he'd had small cuts on his hands. A hangnail. Inhaled something. A dozen possibilities. A synthetic lifeform that wanted to live, could adapt, and was capable of abandoning a dying host. "And yet this impersonal little self-help system gave me your personality and memory to kick around. Didn't it?"_

_ No answer. Jacob continued to watch the sunset._

_ "Or not. I think I'm there. You're very afraid. How long were you infected?"_

_ Quietly: "A very long time."_

_ Ben nodded. "Stick around anything long enough, you pick up its habits. So very adaptable, all this technology."_

_ "Benjamin-"_

_ "No. You've told me what I needed. I understand. It's been said all along, but now I understand." He patted the ghost on its back. His tone changed, became distant and thoughtful. "Jacob died. I killed him. Hugo nearly died, and Jacob refused to save him. Or did he? Was it just me in the end? Wanting to live despite what I told myself, wanting to use Sayid, realizing Hugo could do little more in our desperate press to escape. One less person to watch over while all hell breaks loose, one more tactical reaction. I think I won't tell him. I was not made for easy compassion." He thought of Alex, then dismissed it before he could lure a dream of her. _

_ More silence between them. Ben leaned forward, looking at his own reflection in the water. It changed, from child to man to child again. "I've never needed Jacob to keep me alive or to use what Jacob infected me with, have I? Despite what I made myself believe. He needed me – to keep a memory alive, needed me to finish some... duty he'd set for himself. Some plan. That made the nightmares. The thrashing of a dead personality trying to stay afloat on a system that wasn't meant to support it. I was resisting the infection." He shrugged._

_ "I don't need Jacob anymore. And you will do what I say. I will finish this thing on my terms. This business with the island will end."_

_ A bird called in the distance. The sun, frozen for eternal moments of dream, began to rise instead of set. "Yes," whispered the hollow voice. Jacob was gone. _

_ Now one man sat alone on the dock._

_ He woke up._

_~*~_

Sayid's quarters were always sparse and clean. A small bribe meant he lived alone, quietly, the picture of peace. It bordered only one other room, and against that wall rested a heavy cabinet for his small cache of clothing. The only passing quirk present was an extremely high end portable network console, which he had passed off through station customs as the prized toy of a technological hobbyist. They hadn't looked close enough to find the tap-modules fitted inside, an untraceable doorway into the network to place and leave messages. He had several, the first from Earth, and he hesitated before opening the recording. The room was secure. Nonetheless, he was unsettled. Hushed voices filled the cafe where he worked, and his relative newness was bringing him more attention than he'd have preferred.

The tense face of Vance filled the small screen. His voice was quiet and apologetic. Word had been sent on to Vance's superiors of Alpert's capture, but in the wake of Themis, there was little that Earth could do to help. Alliance Navy was hunting them hard. _"Leave Linus and the others to their fate," _had been the command. Again, the apology, and a promise to make contact when possible. Vance signed off, bidding him good luck.

"Cowards," muttered Sayid. He started the next video, the press on the console keypad more vicious than he'd intended. He was surprised to see the face of Miles.

_ "Hey, Sayid. If this gets to you, I'll be surprised. The guys got out, far as I know. Someone tried to jump us, probably some of Edom's jerks. We picked up some dead guys that weren't local, three of 'em plus some dude's in jail, don't know what's up with that. Anyway, way I figure it, if you're lucky, you're on your own out there. Have a nice life. Try dating, man, you always struck me as way too uptight. If you're not lucky, then Linus and his brat pack of freaks is on the way. I mean that in the most literal way. You watch the kid, if she's with them. That kid knows something she never bothered to say, or Linus is even more fucked up than we thought or something – because that freaky smoke thing was there, on the station. I have no story for that. Just watch out for them."_

Miles ran his hand through his short-cropped hair. _"In case you haven't figured it out, I'm not with them, I'm not going to be with them, I'm out. Permanente. If you guys come out of this and by you guys I mean everybody but Ben, feel free to look me up. I'm staying on Themis. After I send this off, this console's going in the dumper. Tell Vance to fuck himself. Good luck, man."_ The screen went black.

Sayid rested his palms on the desk, dark eyes flashing in contemplation. A formation of Alliance Navy ships patrolled Cronus space since the incident; travelers would never be able to arrive without being carefully inspected. He suspected Ben would be aware of that.

He started the last message, absorbing James' words with wry fatalism. He had come to terms with the quirks of fate and didn't concern himself with the news of the monster and the difficulty that would come as the others arrived. Instead, he tried to look on the bright side of it. There would still be a chance to kill Benjamin Linus. A chance to absolve the things he had done.

~*~

"And there they are. That's... a big fuckin' ship." James eyed the Alliance dreadnaught as it filled the front view of the ship. Just behind him, Hurley was absently scratching his arm. Nearly a mile long, studded with armaments and the soft waver of an energized shield, the ship loomed over them like steel death. Cronus Station waited further out, a gleaming metal dot against the rings of massive Saturn. "Yeah, so... I'm just going to turn off the engines and hope they don't shoot the shit out of us."

"Good idea, dude."

~*~

Ruhi stuffed her few belongings back into her bag, occasionally glancing up at screens that showed the same view that James and Hurley saw. With a worried look, she ran a hand through her hair and stopped packing to fiddle with metal buckles. The activity was pointless; it was unlikely the bag would travel on to the station with her. There was no doubt in her mind that the Navy would give its prisoners directly to Widmore. She fiddled anyway. A moment later, she jerked her head around as the sound of a door chime interrupted her thoughts. "Yeah?" she ventured. It was probably Ben. It was. The sound of his voice carried through the intercom.

"I have a small question." He sounded nonchalant, perfectly calm regardless of the giant steely doom floating towards them in space.

She ordered the door open. He stepped forward once to stand in the frame, watching her with the same unreadable expression he'd had since sleeping for nearly two days. His hands were clasped in front of him. They were no longer gloved. "Why did he make you?"

She stared at him a moment, then sat down on the small cot. "I... don't." She shrugged, then looked down. "He wanted to be sure he could pass on the right influence to the team that would be working on the Alphas. He knew how he came to be, knew some of how he'd been engineered, so he reverse-engineered himself and made me to be sure he was right."

"Except that, as you say, you're not like him."

"...No. I don't think so." She put her hands on her lap and didn't look at him. "The scientists aren't the bad guys here. The Gammas and the Betas, there's nothing hidden or spooky about them, they were just put out there with the intentions of helping people. Dad never really messed with them much, just some improvements. They – and the Alphas – were always planned for by the techs. So the scientists would have tried to build the Alphas with good intentions, too."

"To be guides."

"Yeah. That was the lead guy's big talking point. I never saw him much." She heard him shift in the doorway. "So I guess something must have happened later."

"Mm." She looked up and saw him staring over her head at the screens. "I think we're going to get hailed in just a moment. What happens when they catch you with us?" He dropped his eyes to regard her. The effect was abrupt and startling, the eyes clear and blue and fixed.

"They won't. I'm going to hide."

"By being... yourself, I'm sure."

She decided to be honest. "Yes."

"All right." He inclined his head slightly. "Good luck." There was no trace of usual irony in his voice and she watched him leave with a confused expression on her face.

~*~

Orders droned from the larger vessel. Ensure all engines are stopped, no sudden moves, hold for scanning. They complied as best as they could. James sat stone-still, Hurley was pale, Ruhi fidgeted, and Ben just waited.

It took more than an hour for the dreadnaught to position itself for boarding. A loud metal rasp was heard as a temporary airlock was forged between the two ships. Their door hissed open, Hurley flinching as instinct told him that space would come rushing in. It didn't, just more cold steel air from the other ship. What did come, after some hushed conversation on the other side of the door, was a pair of small canisters.

"What-" managed James before the canisters popped and the gas knocked out the three men within seconds. Ruhi stepped back further into the shadows of the ship, watching with dark eyes as a squad of armored Navy soldiers swept onboard to examine it. Chatter continued as the order came down from John Edom himself to collect the men and prepare them for transfer to Cronus. Ruhi's face tightened at the faint sound of his voice, but made no noise to alert them to her presence. She knew she wouldn't come up on their scans.

A little later, none of the troops noted the long, thin line of darkness that slunk along corners and walls. It followed the unconscious prisoners into the ship and then on towards Widmore's private holding.


	14. Forever War

_12._

_Forever War_

Richard sat with his arms crossed and his back leaned against the wall. It was comfortable enough, if cold and far too bright. His face was weary, long hours and days in the holding cell showing on his otherwise ageless face. His eyes were closed, though he didn't sleep. There was nothing to watch, nothing to read, nothing to do. Just long stretches of waiting broken by the occasional meal. He was used to it by nature. It didn't make it fun. It didn't make the weight of time any lighter.

In cells around him lay unconscious men. It had given him something to watch, Ben and the others hauled in and dropped unceremoniously in separate, clear-walled holding. The naval troops said little as they worked, uninterested in Widmore business even as John Edom would still tell others it was Navy business. The Navy knew where their funding came from. Widmore had an 82% stake in their financing and support. It might well have been a personal army in addition to their own private force.

John's synth had come in to assess the group once and gone away again. In an attempt to be polite, it had inquired after Richard's comfort. He hadn't responded. Synths threw him off, made him uncomfortable. They were not human, and something in him responded with unusual hostility to the synthetics. It was, perhaps, his nature to be so.

With a soft groan, it was James to stir first. He pulled himself up in a seated position, his hand pressed against his face as he winced. It was a familiar gesture. Richard had made it himself, coming to on the Naval transport after having been gassed and captured. He gave a sympathetic smile as James squinted around and caught sight of him, though it disappeared quickly when the man swore and turned his head away.

"Nice to see you, too, James." The man swore again. Richard shifted a little in his seat. Ben awoke next, easily, and he turned to examine his surroundings – and general company – with casual blandness. He met Richard's eyes, giving him nothing to read in them. There was a polite tilt of his head. Richard didn't know how to take it.

Hurley groaned, mumbled something, and stayed where he lay.

"Not even gonna sit up, Marshmallow Fluff?"

A thick-voiced response. "Nah, dude. Isn't gonna get any better if I do that."

Richard leaned forward. "So, how's everyone been?"

"Shitty." Blunt, drawled response. "Look, did I ask to hear from you?"

"That's enough, James." Ben's hand flicked toward Richard. "I assume we're on Cronus. Why are you here?"

Richard ran a hand through his hair, considered, and then went with the truth. "Vance exiled me. I was supposed to end up in Widmore's office, a little gift from the Earthers."

"To kill him?" Ben's question was sharp-edged enough to cause Hurley to raise his head and take a look. He watched the two for a moment, then laid his head back down.

Richard snorted. "You and I both know I wouldn't do that."

A light shrug. "I'm not sure the rules apply anymore. If they ever did."

Richard paled slightly at the heresy. "...No, it was to deliver a message. That the Earthers know a lot of very embarrassing things about the corporation. Things they're capable of telling the public."

Blue eyes narrowed at him "Why send you out to Charles, then? It's stupid to wait to go public with information until your delivery, unless it's blackmail..."

Richard opened his mouth, offended at Ben's casual dismissal of his worth, then closed it again. It hadn't occurred to him. "Why would the Earthers blackmail Widmore?"

A snort. "As if _I'd _know." The eyes sharpened again. "What do you know? What was the message?"

"I had a data unit. It was all on there." He crossed his arms and leaned back again. "Gone now, Edom took it. Probably been recycled into bathroom parts by now."

Ben's eyes never left him. They drilled, sensing a lie. "That's not an answer, and I know you better than to believe you never looked at the data." The sardonic drawl colored his voice. "Not a note could pass between two men on the island without you knowing about it."

Richard stared back, level. "I wasn't a traitor."

"I don't care. It doesn't matter." Ben quirked a lip at Richard's sigh. "Fine, later." He lifted his gaze to examine the room, settled back to watch the door.

"Think Sayid got the message?" Hurley finally sat up.

Richard started at that. "Sayid?"

James talked past him. "I'd guess. Sent it off right. Up to him if he does anything about it." He gestured at the room. "Course, you can't tell me this place isn't being monitored. Here we are, yapping like we're at a picnic, and-"

The lights went out, then came back, dimmed and tinted with emergency red. James shut his mouth, then stood up, ready to defend himself against whatever came, as futile as that would likely be. The door slid open several moments later to reveal Sayid. There were lumps of shadow along the floor behind him.

"Good job, there, dude. Got the power messed with and got in here -"

"I did not cut the power." Sayid's curt voice cut Hurley off. He continued into the room, looked at the console that controlled the cells. He stuffed a small coilgun into his waistband. "The security staff has been taken care of. You have another ally?"

"Ruhi." Sayid lifted his head at Ben's response, looked at him. "I would presume she's arriving behind you. If not already there." Meekly, the girl poked her head around the doorframe.

"The assistance is appreciated." Sayid glanced back at the girl. "Can you open these doors more quickly than I?"

She dropped her head in a quick nod to him, then stepped over to run her hands rapidly over the console. Sayid watched the gesture with narrowed eyes, then looked at the girl. He nodded, as if to himself.

When the cell doors opened, Richard stayed where he was. Hurley turned to look at him. "Uh, you coming?"

Richard remained with his arms crossed. "I'm not under the impression you want my company."

"Story of my life," muttered Ben. The dryness of his voice could have cut steel. "Move, Richard."

He tilted his head. "So you can get more use out of me."

"Why not? You had plenty out of everyone else. For whatever side. I said I don't care and I don't. Right now – move and be useful. Or rot there." Ben shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

"Since you ask so nicely..." Ben shot Richard a look as he rose.

Sayid led all of them down darkened halls.

~*~

John Edom was scanning updates on his wall console when Beta Three entered his private laboratory. The voice of Widmore's security chief droned, tension present in the man's voice. John's expression remained calm, detached, and he gave Three a brief glance as the synth stood ready for orders. "Thanks for being so prompt, Betts."

"Sir." The synth cocked his head, absorbed the information he saw and heard. The security alert was being compartmentalized. It was not general knowledge. The irregularity tripped Three's sense of duty, reflecting in a mild expression of worry on the smooth face. "Shall I inform Mr. Widmore of what's going on?" That was correct protocol for the private ward. He felt better for suggesting it.

"No." The word was sudden and curt, worry returning to the synth's face. John turned his head and broke into a warm smile to comfort him. "It's alright, Betts. Charles has a lot going on right now what with security trying to figure out what's going on with him and Themis. I just thought I'd keep the load light."

Logical. Still, it ran against protocol. Three's mind hummed, then set it aside. He was inclined to trust John. The man had never done anything to disturb the synth; well, that he could remember. It was unthinkable. "Of course, sir."

"I am, however, going to ask you to go and be my eyes and ears. Security's going to have their hands full tracking the prisoners. They'll have had inside help... or more. Ruhi might be with them." Edom's lips pursed for a moment, the grizzled face creasing with a flash of rare emotion. Three remembered the child, remembered John's pride in her. Of course, Three had no idea where the mother was. John had left the synth with a sense of adoption. His affection had been clear. "If so, I need you to be there to use this. Help out our people." John reached out, gestured for the synth's smooth hand. Three reached out willingly, found a small, white device pressed into his palm. Sensors in his skin noted the plastic covering, formed a mental image of the circuitry and power unit inside. Three's logic and reason told him it was designed to emit a brief electronic pulse, nothing else. He gazed down at it, puzzled.

"Sir?"

"You're right, it doesn't look like much. Should just drop kind of a jolt through the walls – and that's what you do, just stick it on the wall if security can flush the prisoners down a corridor towards you. Stick it and be sure to get away. If it's on the wall, it probably can't hurt you-" Three, like most Betas, were hardened somewhat against general EMP pulses. Indirect energy wouldn't do much. A direct pulse would still get through. "-but be careful anyway." The grey face flickered again.

"It won't hurt the humans, sir?" Worry in the synthetic voice. Strong worry. Three found the concept of inflicted pain vile, his choice versus the ones that worked closer with general station security.

"Of course not, Betts! I know how you feel about that." John reached out, patted Three on the shoulder. "I would never ask you to harm humans." His voice held perfect truth, the synth could read every note of sincerity. It was good enough.

~*~

Sayid led them into unused tunnels, thick with oil and steel dust. Footprints still dotted the ground, newer ones from his trail-hunting destroying the old tracks of techs and Gamma synths. He had made considerable study of the paths, knew which ones were monitored and which were ignored for sake of ease. The group moved quickly, entrusting themselves once more to his sense of direction. He broke the silence only once. "There is an old tech lobby further down. We may rest there." Mutters of assent followed, Ruhi bringing up the rear. If she knew the tunnels as well, she said nothing about it.

The lobby was where he remembered; dimly lit by old displays and emergency wiring, dusty, filled with scraps and forgotten tools. A lunchbox sat forgotten in a corner by another door, another item of the future that still closely resembled its ancestors in the past. Ben's lip quirked a little when he saw it, gestured to Hurley. "Might be some saltines left in it," he said. His voice lilted, sardonic teasing. Hurley rolled his eyes, not rising to the jab. Richard watched the almost friendly interaction with something like disbelief.

Hurley caught the look. "I got used to him, dude."

"You poor bastard," blurted Richard.

"Yeah, I get told that a lot." Hurley sat down in front of the sealed second door. After a moment, he reached over and snagged the lunchbox anyway. Shook it. "It's empty." Set it back down, giving Ben a straight-faced look_. _Ben shrugged and sat down himself.

Sayid's expression remained neutral. "So. Here we are, all together again. Mostly." He sat down as well, pulling the coilgun from his waistband and setting it on his lap. "Miles wishes us luck."

Hurley perked at that. "He okay?"

"As far as I could tell. He has chosen to part company permanently." Ruhi's face let a guilty expression creep in. Sayid examined it wordlessly.

"Smart guy," muttered Richard.

"You got cranky at some point after we last saw you, Flying Dutchman." James leaned back against the wall and pointed vaguely in Richard's direction.

"Can't imagine why. Life's been wonderful since the twenty-first century. I even got to visit Spain again, too bad it was damn near empty and all the Rioja vineyards were destroyed." He tilted his head. "Oh, and then there was that little bit where the Earthers decided I wasn't worthy of living on Earth anymore, stuck me full of drugs, and dropped me into space. That was great, a lot of fun. How have you been, James?" James just stared back.

"Not all eyes weep for you, Richard." The drone.

"None will weep for you," came the return shot.

"No." Ben's tight smile. "But then, I'm not expecting anyone to. If you want sympathy-"

"Spare me, Ben. You want to know what the Earthers knew to send me up here." He rustled in the pocket of his burgundy shirt, pulling out a small, black item. He tossed it to Ben. "Knock yourself out. It's encrypted, probably unseals for Widmore. There's not much I saw on it. Few text lists of... things. The rest seems to be a recording."

Ben examined the data unit, one eyebrow slightly arched. "Indeed."

Richard shrugged. "I took a gamble that they wouldn't search me too hard once they found the fake one."

"A gamble." Same bland drone. Hurley recognized it as masked surprise.

"It's helpful, sometimes, to be the one in the middle that everyone assumes doesn't do much but watch. Nobody expects it when I actually try to do something useful." Another shrug. "Besides, bad habits are infectious, Ben." He enunciated the name slightly, sarcastically.

He didn't rise to the tone. "I'm lacking a console at the moment. Why don't you give me the highlights?"

After a heavy pause, Richard did.

~*~

Charles noted the new security log entry with cold interest. A side effect of the Themis investigation meant he was spending a considerable amount of time examining old security logs, data files, and other, more mundane pieces of the past. His access codes, now freshly reset, let him see everything – nearly everything, and that was a mystery. There were handfuls of logstamps that had no associated information, traces in the system. Now, as he read, this new one had been added to the scrolling list and then compartmentalized. No information. Just like the others.

_Interesting. Why does my gut feel that had something to do with our guest in holding? More guests this morning. Nothing to worry about. Naval business, John. Naval business, nothing more. _He thinned his lips and glanced at the time. Early afternoon. Acceptable timing. He settled himself in his seat, cleared his throat, and then chimed for Edom.

The man connected immediately, voice contact only. His voice was perfectly serene. "Charles?"

"Damnable security reports." Charles narrowed his eyes, considered the taut silence that answered him. "Feel I'm going blind staring at all this nonsense from Themis. Still no closer to figuring out how someone accessed my codes."

"I'm sure EIN will figure it out. It's their job, after all. Don't let yourself get too worked up over it, Charles." The voice was smooth, comforting. Widmore's cheek twitched.

"I'm not, it's just wearying. Lunch, then? I could use a break."

Another long pause. "I'm a bit tangled in a pet project down here. The lab's a mess and I've got Betts running an errand. Can I beg off and claim the check for dinner, if I get out from under this?"

Charles leaned back, an eyebrow raised. His gut spoke again, no evidence, only a hunch. He made his voice understanding, a little bombastic. "Of course, John. I know how you get. Contact me whenever you have a chance."

He rang off, turned again to the security logs, tried to think. Charles had access to enough information to see the shape of what was missing. He only needed to figure out how. Staring at the logs and their timestamps, he began to form an idea.

With a soft grumble, Charles pulled up the records and timestamps of all of John's communications and began to match them with the empty security logs. After an hour of this, he began to curse.

~*~

There was silence after Richard's brief litany. Cold, unhappy silence for a long while. Metal clattered in the distance beyond the room's open door, pipes popping and electricity crackling. Sayid still sat with the gun on his lap, like a statue. The rest just sat. Hurley was pale. It was Ben who finally broke the wall. He looked at Ruhi, addressed her with quiet pressure. "Did you know?"

She shook her head slowly. She looked down at her hands, dead white. "Just... just all the mechanical stuff. None of that, none of the biology. I didn't know what happened to the people he took from the island."

"Neither might Charles, if this concept of blackmail applies. I find that interesting."

James looked at Ben. "You believe her? After everything else, the whole 'we were bait' thing, this?"

"Yes, James, I do. She leaves things out. She doesn't lie. I'd know a lie. Probably even from her."

"Probably. Well, that's comforting."

Sayid glanced up. "I feel I am missing something."

"Believe me, Falafel, you ain't missing anything good."

"Hm." Sayid shifted, pulled up a knee and shifted his gun to the still-prone leg. In the distance, more snaps and crackles from forgotten machines. Hurley got up and went to look down the hallway. "Miles told me something very fascinating. Something he saw." His dark eyes glanced at Ben, glanced at the girl. "An old friend, in a way. Was that you?" He jutted his chin at the girl. "Or you?" This was to Ben, who held his gaze levelly.

"Me," whispered the girl.

"Very good. That makes this easier." Sayid lifted the coilgun from his thigh and pointed it at Ben. "Is now good for what may be absolution? We might not get more time. We are hunted." Ben said nothing, stared back. His face was calm. The girl half-rose from her seat, but Ben lifted a hand as if to stop her.

"Oh shit, dude!" Something clanked down the hall.

Sayid's gaze never left Ben. "Come now, Hurley. He is too recognizable; it will be hard to move through the station as it is. We can disguise easily without him, and it will be one more thing of the past that we may be done with."

"Does that other door w-" Hurley turned as he spoke, missing Sayid's words. He saw the gun, swore again. "You guys, we're in bigger trouble. There's people moving way down there."

James cursed and moved towards the door. He saw the shadows, nodded, swore again. He bolted across the room to wrestle with the sealed door. With effort, it began to creak and squeal open. "Not sure that noise is doing us much good," he said through gritted teeth, "But I don't advise going back that way. Least six of 'em down there."

"Perhaps we can delay this, Sayid?" Ben's eyes had never left Sayid's. "It's coming, of no doubt. I can, I think, be sure you'll get what you want. I won't try to survive it. You can take your shot." He raised his chin slightly. "Let's get the others to safety first. At worst, I'm extra cannon fodder. Do we have an understanding?"

Sayid narrowed his eyes, finger still on the trigger. "All right. Soon, Benjamin."

"Soon."

They fled the little tech lobby, the first shots ringing off the metal walls behind them. Voices chattered into comlinks, echoed in the narrow steel halls.


	15. Childhood's End

(ALERT: Depressing chapter incoming. Please be advised that the more hopeful alert given prior in regards to Hurley's fate does not apply here. Someone's getting killed this time. As a hint, if you are still quite familiar with the S5 finale and the events shortly before the bomb goes off, you're probably pretty well prepared for this one.)

_13._

_Childhood's End_

Beta Three monitored the chatter between busy security teams. Edom's device nestled in his hand, quiet and harmless. He was in an annex, a room that connected many corridors that themselves spiraled out, up and down, through the private sections of the Fifth Ward. It was needlessly complex for tourists, of which there were few, and simple to get used to for the residents. Under the chime of an advisory alert, the corridors had been emptied. Private security patrolled while the synth listened for a clue as to what direction he might ultimately need to go. The worry had returned. He trusted Edom, like a child has faith in a father, but there was still a lingering sense of natural dread. A cyberethicist would find the synth's mind right then to be fascinating; complex and whirled into the closest thing possible in the Betas to a real human's hunch of future's misfortune. In a sense, Three was clinging to faith that he was wrong to be afraid.

~*~

They had somehow purchased more distance between themselves and their pursuers. It was needed. Running would soon become difficult; while Hurley was in somewhat better shape than he'd been in the past, he still tired more quickly than the rest. Brief pauses at some unused corridor's junction let Sayid pick a direction. If he faltered, Ruhi pointed a suggestion. She wasn't sure of their course either, but it beat waiting around for security to catch up.

Eventually their flight led them to a riskier choice – musty cold corridors in disrepair that none of the group knew the layout or condition of, or another path that led into the newer and still-empty halls of a lower section of the residential Fifth Ward. James and Sayid argued while Hurley gasped for air. They took a chance on the cleaner corridors, reasoning they might wind up trapped down the other route. It was possible. There were gaps internally in the station, places for expansion, places where humans could catch themselves in deep trouble beyond environmental controls. The other route was at least certainly survivable, and being so new, Sayid reasoned, it was possible not all of the monitoring was online yet. If they could stay ahead of the patrol, Sayid reasoned, they would find a place to duck into the untrackable again, buy more time. Slip back into Widmore's sanctum from a better vantage. There was still some hope in their voices, a chance to finish things, to slip away.

Hope would not last.

~*~

Fifth Ward wound through enough quiet junctions and private halls to suit them perfectly. They talked in hushed voices, and several times the sounds of security rose in closeness and then drifted away. So far Sayid's hunch about monitoring seemed to bear out. Camera orbs set into ceilings and near doors stared blindly at them, but they didn't make assumptions about their luck continuing to hold. Ruhi found a doorway into an unfinished, unopened section of the ward and led them in. Environmental support would be there, but the rooms were incomplete, balconies not yet railed in while conduits were run from the massive open center of the deck and into the floors.

They wandered along some of these, the balconies-to-be giving both Hurley and Ben intense vertigo and the instinctual fear of uncertain ground. They kept cautious watch up and down and across the central way, catching no sign of security. Hurley gulped audibly each time they passed these gaps. Ben bore it with typical denial, his face cold but for a brief, sympathetic glance at Hurley. Hurley assumed he'd imagined it.

This went on for some time, planning a path as best they could as they fled. Ruhi talked with Sayid, gesturing with fingers and making a map in the air of possible routes they could take. They were yards away from another junction that might take them into hidden territory when the shots began again. Security had gotten in front of them and were now charging down a hallway towards them in a basic overpowering formation.

They fell back, Hurley charging with the girl ahead of him, Richard just behind. They ducked around a corner blindly, running. They were fleeing, no real point to most of them fighting. Only Sayid was armed. There would be more security to replace the fallen if they tried.

This did not stop James from lagging behind and taking some of the fight he was promised so long ago. An unlucky guard broke from the pack, lunged forward after the escapees. James grabbed him, punched him in the face once, twice, again to break his nose, and let the dazed man fall. "Gimme the gun," he hissed at Sayid, who had stayed behind with him. After a brief hesitation, the coilgun found its way into his hand and he took a few shots. Most went wild, but one guard fell, clutching at his shoulder. James shoved the gun back at Sayid and they ran to catch up with the rest.

Eventually their blind retreat took them back towards another one of the open areas. They paused well away from the balcony-less gap, Ruhi looking around to try and catch their bearings. She stepped a little closer to the open central space. "If we go left, we ought to circle back around, lower than where we were. There's another set of maintenance tunnels down there. They lead to D-9."

"That will return us to where I'm familiar." Sayid nodded. "From there, I know a few hiding places we can use." There was a sudden flash of light and he turned to look. A lone security guard was skulking along another balcony area, two levels up and across. Likely to find a clear shot. Sayid stepped forward to take aim with the coilgun -

-and then a set of guards lunged in from another hallway, diving towards the group. One headed directly for Sayid, tackling him to the ground dangerously close to the gap and away from the others. The coilgun fell from his hand as he grunted, caught unaware by the distraction the guard above had caused. The rest of the guards swarmed the others, one gone swinging for James and getting an elbow to his collarbone for his trouble. He choked on his breath and staggered back, tried again, was headbutted and fell. James kicked the downed man for good measure, without a moment's guilt.

_"No!" _A brief swell of darkness and the guards were repelled. Two of them fled outright, a third was flung away before Ben could face his own attacker. One was peeled away from Richard and tossed like a doll. Hurley, at least, went unmolested. The girl reformed, panted. She looked away, down the halls, looking for more attackers.

Over by the gap, Sayid still struggled, beating on the guard that had tackled him with relentless efficiency. With a cry, the man fell back while blood streamed from his face. He dropped to his side – and found empty air. Gravity began the rest of the work, the guard beginning to tilt into the gap. He scrabbled to save himself and found Sayid's leg, pulling on it with all his desperate weight.

Sayid screamed at him in Arabic, tried to shake him off. The guard clung on, but the movement shoved him further into the open space, tilting the bulk of the weight even further towards nothingness. With nothing to hold to himself, Sayid began his own slide towards the gap. All this happened within seconds.

It was Ben who grasped what was happening first, and later, much later, he would wonder if things would have ended differently if he had not been the one to lunge for Sayid. Thoughts of fate flashed through him, a promise of endings. He didn't object to the idea of finishing what he could and being slain. It was probably only right. Sayid could do it, a fitting choice – but only if he survived the next moments. It was worth it to Ben to make the attempt to help. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his hands around one of Sayid's wrists. The dark hand grasped back. He tried to pull.

The weight of the two men made his breath hiss. Sayid was half in the gap himself, the guard's grip weakening and finally letting go. Over Sayid's shoulder, he watched the man fall, and fall, and fall out of sight. The distant thud was only imagined, never heard. Sayid's dark eyes watched his blue ones widen in a paling face, but said nothing. "Ruhi! James!" Ben called over his shoulder. His hands were starting to sweat under the effort of holding back the sliding man. He was not so strong as he needed to be, and he fought to keep his balance.

One of them must have tried to approach. Above and across, the lone guard took a chance shot. It was enough to make whoever it was step back, and the surprise sound made Ben jerk and Sayid slide further into the gap. The sense of weight increased, and something began to strain in Ben's shoulder. "Come on," Ben hissed through teeth set in effort. "Pull up, I can't hold you like this."

Sayid only looked up at him. He seemed at peace. "This is fate, Benjamin. No redemption. There will be no absolution for us, either. We do not deserve it."

"Sayid. Pull. Up." His grip slid further. He scrabbled at the dark wrist, trying to find new purchase without jostling what hold he had left.

"I do not want to be saved by you."

Sayid let go. Ben stared for long moments at empty air.

~*~

Deaf to the world, Ben didn't hear the screams behind him as what happened began to sunk in among the rest. It was James who lunged forward to grab the gun left behind. He pulled at Ben's shoulder to haul him back, dodged another wild shot from across the way, and screamed into the man's ear. Ben didn't blink, still watching Sayid fall in his mind's eye. It was not what should have been. Bitter frustration burst in him, and he got up without looking at James and walked to the others. They looked into his white, blank face and still may have seen the anger and despair that he did not want to show.

James drove off the gunman with a better shot, then tried to shove the others towards the route indicated before hell had broken loose.

~*~

They moved down different halls towards the D-9 area together in silence. To Ben's dim and distant surprise, no one tore into him for the loss of Sayid. Perhaps it was too new. Perhaps it was, after all, the only thing that could have happened. All that was seen was that he'd tried to help – for selfish reasons at the core, but it looked like help. He was too cold to feel guilt. Only despair, that in the end all things began to turn against him. Now he no longer even had Jacob's voice to prod him. Just cold, internal silence.

Ruhi held the lead, still glancing back. Near the junction to D-9, she broke the silence. "I think we're being followed. Think they're keeping back a few hundred yards. I don't know why."

"Just now noticed that, kid?" James looked ahead at her.

"No, but..." She raised an arm, gestured at the hall and dropped it to her side, a motion of helplessness. "Should I go hit them? I don't want to."

"Then don't bother until you have to. Better if you don't hurt anyone till you gotta." He shrugged.

Richard caught Hurley's eye. "How long did it take you to get used to having no idea what was going on?"

"Natural state of my life, dude." He pointed a thick finger at the girl. "You know how she said she's John's daughter?"

"...Yeah."

Hurley took a deep breath. "She's his daughter, like, he seriously made her. And she was gonna try and kill him on Themis, and we didn't really know what was going cause we were going to do our own thing but she meant well. I believe that. So, like, everything kinda went crappy because John didn't show but he sent a bunch of guys to kill us instead, and a bomb, only the bomb ended up being two bombs and the station got pretty badly hit and when the guys came to get us, we kinda freaked out and ran for it and it ended up that we were gonna be toast unless we got the heck outta there real quick or they got stopped.

"So she stopped them. Like... like the monster did back on the island. Cause she's a... not a monster, but I guess the monster's kid." Ruhi gave him a grateful look over her shoulder. "So we came here because John's still some kinda mechanical monster and we should get rid of him because unless we don't, something's going to happen to the island that's going to make the world even worse. So now we're trying to, I don't know, get a hiding place then figure out how to get to John now that we know a way to kill him. Guess we're being kinda half-assed about it. Security is everywhere around here. Anyway, that making any sense?" Richard stared at him, lips pale. "I guess you didn't know John was the weird thing on the island."

"I didn't. Jacob always told me not to worry about the monster, that it was just part of the island. It had rules and we were safe enough. Within reason."

James spat. "I love how as time goes by it comes out that nobody on Craphole Island actually knew what the hell was going on. Except maybe that Jacob-whoever guy that, pretty much as usual, Ben killed. _Gilligan _probably would have had a better grip on things."

"We did fake it with flair," muttered Ben. He sounded tired. "Did our very best to put on a good show."

"Congratulations. Have an Emmy. Thank the Academy. I don't give a shit anymore." James stalked ahead, catching up with Ruhi.

"Why aren't they coming for us?" she asked him.

"Dunno-" There was a shape at the end of the corridor, a figure waiting ahead in a junction. It stepped forward, the smooth, clean form of a Beta synth. James stopped in his tracks. Ben passed him, unaware, before pausing. Ruhi was still just ahead. "The hell's this?"

~*~

Beta Three hesitated for a nanosecond, assuring himself that it was all right to follow Edom's order. It would cause such a short pulse, so specific, so little it could do. He moved forward to put the device on the corridor wall with a firm press, then stepped back once into the junction area. The metal seams of the wall and the carpeting of the floor would be enough insulation for him.

The reaction was as fast as his own. John's daughter – he recognized her, taller than he'd last seen but otherwise unchanged, an oddity – lunged forward towards him, terror on her face. _"No!" _she screamed at him, and the fear hit the synth like a wall. He reached out for the device, Bayesian logic jumping towards a reconsideration, but even his movements were too slow.

~*~

The device pulsed. Every sensor in the synth detected it, measured it. It wasn't visible, it ran over the escapees with only a faint tingle. The girl continued to run for a moment, and then one foot began to dissolve into darkness, and then the other. A broken metal shriek came from her mouth and for the second time that day Ben caught up and reached out in instinct. The girl fell into him, still enough human weight and forward motion to knock them both down, and her hand closed around the front of his shirt, holding on for her life. A synthetic life that was already gone. _Alex. _

Seconds later, the hand loosened and then disappeared into the fall of night. Black iron dust dirtied his hands, coated his dark pants and rested in inert piles. He imagined that there were still shapes in them. An eye, the flow of hair. He watched the metal specks fall from his fingers, like sand from some alien world. His eyes were very wide and saw nothing. There had been too much for one day. The girl had been, for what she was, innocent enough. A child, if not a human one. Another daughter dead, if not his. He thought of Alex again and his breath hissed once. A small gasp of what might have been pain or shock. But for that small breath, he felt nothing else. Only the cold. If he felt anything else, he might have started to scream.

~*~

James shouted something, then stood ready. He didn't lunge at the guards who had now caught up to them. There was no further point in running. They had nowhere to go. Richard stood by him, helpless. Guards screamed at James to drop the gun. At last, unwillingly, he did.

Beyond Ben, the Beta synth stood. He had put his hand to his mouth, covering it, an emotional display for the illogical horror before him. John had lied, here was harm. Or was there? What was the child, why had John been so proud and now sent her – it – to him to die? Its mechanical mind whirled, compiled scenarios, looked for answers. It found none that made sense. Was it a lie? What had he done? He had clearly not killed a human. There was anguish on the men's faces, steel on the approaching guards.

Beta Three stepped forward, making a careful decision. With a soft, modulated voice, he addressed the man coated in dust. "What did I do?"

"You killed her," came the toneless reply. It was also a truth by the man's voice. Paradox. He had done harm, despite not doing human harm. He stepped forward further, raised a hand to the guards to request a stand-down. As John's aide, he had priority control over the guards. One of them chirped into a com to verify priority, then grunted at the team to step back. They did not leave, but they regrouped at the far end of the corridor to watch.

"John did not tell me. Why would he not tell me? I don't understand." Three's voice came out plaintive. He felt no shame about this. His priorities and protocols had been disrupted. He was confused. Now he looked for more information. Of course he would not take all of what these men said as truth, but only input. A way to start recompiling.

The large one spoke up. "She was going to lead us to him. So we could stop him... like how you stopped her." Hurley gulped.

Three tilted his head as he processed and reprocessed that. Again it had the sound of truth. "I don't understand. This device only-" He pulled it off the wall to examine it once more then stopped abruptly and went still to re-assess a massive amount of information and prior observation.

Ben lifted his head to regard the synth.

A moment later, Three resumed his motion. He shifted his weight and looked ill at ease. "John is not human. There has been a mistake in protocol. Priorities have been set in error. Past irregularities are now clear. This is terrible." Woe appeared on the smooth face. "Humans have suffered because of John?"

"Yes," came the soft voice from near the ground. "For a very long time."

The synth made another decision, clasped his hands together before himself. His voice flanged, both addressing the nearby squad and transmitting over their comm. "Widmore Security, you are ordered to stand down. I have temporary control of the situation. Further orders will come from Charles Widmore. You are commanded, by primary protocol, to accept no further orders unless they bear Mr. Widmore's codemark. Disperse." Three cut off the comm interrupt, reached a hand to help the man on the floor to his feet. Dust continued to fall from the small form. The guards still lingered, casual now but alert. "Do you lead this group? It was implied to me upon reception in the holding bay." He waited for the nod. A silent response worked just as well. "You will all accompany me to Mr. Widmore. He has priority; he will explain what to do now. As prisoners, you must accept. I will not harm you. There will be no more violence against you."

"I have a request." Despite the coldness he thought he felt, Ben's voice held a waver.

The synth tilted his head. "I will consider it."

"Take me only. Send the others back to the holding until a decision is made."

"What?" blurted James. He sounded betrayed.

Ben turned to the remaining three. He looked longest at Richard. "I'm going to ask him to let you go. Richard-"

"Bullshit, Gollum. What, you actually in with Widmore now, just gonna walk-"

"No." The denial came with rare viciousness. While he spoke, the ageless man put a hand on James' arm to keep him from striking out. "Richard. If he accepts – he might, he doesn't care about any of you – take them out of here. Save them, take them... wherever you want. Earth if you can, if this works out. Themis; Hurley can access the accounts, find Miles if you like. I don't care. Get away from this, but never take them to the island again. I'm going to try to end this. One damned way or another."

Richard looked into the tired, sinking blue eyes and believed him. Truth clear for once in a way rare to Richard since the man had been a boy and still had some innocence left. "All right, Ben."

Hurley stepped forward. "Are you going to kill him, too?"

"I don't know, Hugo. I don't know anything about what happens next." He quirked his lip, not a smile but some ironic, unhappy expression. The voice still wavered very slightly. "I have seen enough death today. I'll try to bear morality in mind."

Before he could talk himself out of it, Hurley put a hand on Ben's shoulder. The man didn't flinch. "...Okay, dude. Good luck, or something." Ben turned his face away, expression gone blank in defensiveness.

"I don't fucking believe this." James brushed off Richard's attempt to calm him down. "No way. There's another screw in here."

"It doesn't matter, James." Ben looked at the synth. "Is this acceptable?"

Three looked back at the man, then raised his head and caught the eye of one of the guards. He beckoned for his approach. "Take the others to holding. I accept responsibility for this one."

"Yes, sir." They flanked Hurley, James, and Richard. Over more coarse protests, they were slowly herded off.

The synth tilted his head politely at Ben. "It will not be far. Follow me, and please do not attempt to evade. Thank you."

~*~

Charles listened to the synth's open comm commands to private security, letting his hunch be the guide. _The little rat. Surely it is you. Perhaps John didn't try hard enough to kill you with all the chances that he had. You will come, and we will see if his mistakes are my curse – or to my benefit._

He slid open a drawer in his antique wooden desk, pulled an even more antique 21st century handgun from it and let it rest, loaded, in his lap. Whatever came through the door, he was ready for it.


	16. Behold The Man

_14._

_Behold the Man_

Beta Three led Benjamin into the outer room of Charles Widmore's private office. It was dark, paneled in rare and expensive wood, with chairs and small desks dotting the perimeter of it. Antique brass lamps, paintings, a sculpture of David. In this room, there were no display screens, no hints of the emptiness of space just beyond the bulkheads. But for a small console on the wall, the year could be forgotten and a man out of time might think he were home.

Three put his hand on the console, chimed through to the other side of the triple-sealed office door._ "Yes. I saw you arrive. You may send him in. Await further orders and permit no contact until I initiate it."_

"Sir," replied the synth. The door unsealed with a whisper. He nodded to Benjamin and gestured to the inner sanctum. "Mr. Widmore will see you now."

~*~

The inner office matched the outer. More wood paneling, lush cushions on antique Shoolsbred chairs that were only barely younger than Alpert, the glint of colored glass. Small replica statues mingled with originals – Egyptian, Grecian, Hindu, and more. A marble chessboard with pieces caught in the middle of a game. Several richly upholstered couches. A massive mahogany desk and a chair that matched, regal. Ben ignored the man that sat behind it for a moment, letting himself absorb the depth of information in the room. It was narcotic nostalgia, thick with memories of a century left behind. Not all of them good. On the wall hung a linen tapestry relic that seemed far out of place. With a brief tremor of nausea, Ben recognized it as the one that had hung in Jacob's room. It was tattered slightly, yellowing further with age. Men still knelt clearly on it, their hands reaching up for the touch of the eternal seeing eye. The Greek was still legible. From faded memory, words rose as he looked at the fading letters.

_ May the Gods grant thee all that thy heart desires._

If he pressed to honesty, Ben would have admitted he no longer knew what his desires were. He was empty, and finally he looked away from the relic and back at Charles. By the lines in his enemy's face, it occurred to him that Widmore might have a similar dilemma.

"John brought it from the island. He gave it to me when I awoke, a few decades ago. He thought I might like it and he didn't care for it anymore. So he said. Perhaps it was just one of his little jokes after all." The gun never wavered in Widmore's hand. He had a perfect shot at Benjamin's forehead. With detachment, Ben examined his old enemy. Like himself, like Alpert, like Jacob, Charles seemed much younger than he was. Age still defined his face. He had been given a rejuvenation treatment, yes, but it was only the one Widmore publicly specialized in. _Science marches on._ In time, no matter what, Charles would die. The thought didn't give Ben any pleasure.

"Hello, Charles." He gestured to one of the couches. "May I sit? It's been a long day."

"I don't want your blood all over them."

"I'd tell you you'll never shoot, it's against the rules, but I think you know the same thing I do." He sat down anyway, choosing one of dark burnished hickory and green-gold fabric. "If the rules existed, and perhaps at one point they did, we've long since gone past them. Grown past them, perhaps. Here in the stars. For what that's worth, I suppose. Forced out of the cradle of Earth."

Charles grunted at him. "Grown. My ass, boy, you never grew. Not from the first day I saw you, laying there on that cot with your guts knotting back together. Always the same weak, petulant brat hiding behind occasional brilliance. You were never stupid, boy. But you were – and are – a coward."

"I'm not the one with a weapon. I'm tired, Charles. I'm only here because we have things to say to each other." Ben leaned back in the couch, eyes half-lidded for a change. His face was pale and seemed too old, though his features were still unlined.

"Who said I want to hear them?" Charles snorted at his own weak gambit. He lowered the gun and placed it on the desk. His hand remained on it, though. Just in case. "Who was the first to arrive in my little prison? Answer me that, honestly, and it's a start."

"Before us? Richard." Ben raised his hand, held it open to show no threat. With slow and deliberately clear motions, he reached into a pocket and withdrew the small data unit. He leaned forward and tossed it. It clattered onto Widmore's desk. The older man didn't flinch or look down at it. "A delivery for you. From Earth."

Charles paused. "I don't want it."

Ben shrugged. He remained leaned forward, his hands steepled before him. "I can understand preferring to avoid things you don't want to learn. I understand that very well. I think John has left quite a few things out of his narrative. He's been using you. Like he used me. Like others long before us, I'm sure. If you look, then there's no more use he can get out of you. That's its own risk, but better an informed one. I didn't know enough to make a different choice."

Charles dropped his gaze to look at the unit, flicked up again. Ben didn't take the opportunity to move._ He has grown. Slightly. "_I hardly believe you're acting out of charity or compassion."

"I'm not. I'm sick of the same mistakes causing the same outcomes, over and over again. If this doesn't end, what's the last scene? The two of us forever warring over the island, into eternity, the same stupid plans and people left for dead? Didn't we lose enough?"

Charles put his other hand on the data unit, rubbed fingertips over its smooth surface. "My son. Your daughter."

"And John's."

Charles lifted his head up at that, peered at him. "The girl he had. Ruhi."

"She's gone, Charles. He made that... man out there kill her."

"Impossible. Three won't harm-" Charles narrowed his eyes. Connections began to come together in his mind, facing immediate rejection. "You're lying."

"Am I?" Ben arched an eyebrow. "Not today."

With a grimace, Charles snatched up the unit and plugged it into a hidden console port.

~*~

From Ben's vantage, there was no video. He could only hear a familiar voice. Ilana's voice, a sound he'd last heard shrieking at him before she'd shot him in the chest. The recording sounded old, crackles still present, relics from dead technology. _"Hello, Widmore. If you see this, then it means many things have finally come together. We have the information we need and the ability to put pressure on you. It may have taken a long time. I don't know what year it is for you. It doesn't matter. I want you to look at me. Look very close. I'm one of the ones that survived. That escaped. And now it will be my life's work to destroy everything you've made and take it for our own._

_ "You joined forces with a monster. The monster, our monster. Do you know? I can only assume you do. You trusted yourself to him. As I record this, you sleep. I don't know when you'll wake up. When you do, you'll have all these things he made for you. He took what we were on the island and perverted it. From us, fresh life. He can use what we were and give people youth. Heal disease. Repair injuries. But this is how he made the technology. This is how he's reforging mankind. Look at us! He builds you on our bones!_

_ "Look at your history. Look very close. Look at the birth records. You gave him so much control and he's used it every way possible. Listen for the small voices as your men go into space. Only a few weren't afraid to speak about the eugenics your corporation put into place. You can argue we're being made stronger, but it's being done at the cost of someone's choice. People are being sterilized. Children are monitored by doctors in the womb. The ones likely to fail, do. The parents are not told. They are not given any choice. This was never what we were meant to be. All these files will be sent to you, along with this video. Read them! Know what you let free! You out there are changing. You are not children of Earth, and you warp the island's gifts. This is why we stand against you._

_ "I could hope the guilt kills you. I could hope we have sent someone or something along to speed this. Or I could hope you suffer with the knowledge under our thumb. Do you have conscience enough for that? Did you ever dream that your people would warp what being human meant?" _From time to time the voice and sound quality changed in the recording. Ben realized it was many different recording from different times, spliced together. How recent would some of it be?

_ "Now I hear there will be robots that work to replace men. I am told of synth generations, plans for artificial life. If we do not conform to his design, he'll simply remove us when he gets the chance. Monster. Both of you._

_ "In time, once we know you have seen this, and believe me, we'll know it when you have, we will contact you. Answer for this. Answer to us. We will not hide all of your crimes. But if you will give us control of your corporation and control of our Earth we will hide some of them. Otherwise, we will reveal all of them and let you be hunted. Look on our files and see."_

_~*~_

Charles shut off the recording. With a tap, he began to pull up the files. His tone was deceptively mild, but red anger burned in patches on his face. "Are you sent to speed things?"

"No, it should have been Richard who delivered it. As I began to note earlier, he was intercepted." Ben tilted his head. "So it is a form of blackmail. How curious. And ugly. You knew none of this?"

"No, Benjamin. My suspicions, I regret to admit, are more recent." Charles leaned back, ran a hand over his face. "Nothing curious about it. Neither of us fight for good, despite what we tell each other. None of them. Just animals, scrabbling in the dirt. Perhaps John had a point to all this."

"Now that's dark, Charles. Even for me."

Charles looked away from the screen, glowered at his old enemy. "I have another question. Answer it with perfect truth, and we'll see what the future holds."

"Ask."

"My daughter. Penelope. You changed your mind at the last moment. She told me later, as he rested in the hospital. His version was different, of course. Why, Benjamin? What stopped you?" He watched Ben as he waited for his answer, eyes dark and intent.

Ben sat in silence for a very long time. When he answered, his voice was soft and heavy. "Your grandson would have grown up without a mother. I could never have done that to the child." Now his voice fell into a near-whisper. "He might have grown up to be like me." He cleared his voice and spoke again. "How did he grow up?"

"Motherless anyway." The response was brusque. Another man and his mask to hide pain. "Fatherless, too. He was on the land, visiting with other children. Desmond and Penelope were at sea, fishing deep waters when the second storm came. They would have lost all navigation. The ship could not be found. I spared no expense and brought my grandson to me. I was not there for all of his life." His voice shifted slightly, hoarse. "Nonetheless, I ensured he had some family. He grew well. Worked new fields, new strains of wheat and corn. His life, I can say, had meaning."

Ben said nothing. He closed his eyes.

"I suppose I will face the Earthers, Benjamin. I'll sort out my own future. As for yours, if they did not send you to me to end my life, I will send you on to John and with luck you may end his. I can leave him as sacrifice for my sins of neglect. For the history of the island. Is it possible to end him, do you know? She said he was the monster, and so it may be. I thought he was like Alpert, just another advisor at my side. I thought wrong." Charles shifted in his seat. "I can't imagine you came here with no way to end him."

"I have a few ideas." It occurred to him that he could simply give the method to Widmore, have the entire deck pulsed with electricity while they waited. It wasn't what he wanted. Let John's death be on his hands alone, if it could be. There was still the riddle of Jacob's belief that John's life meant the destruction of the island. "If they don't work... look at what happened to Ruhi. Use that."

"Very well. He's in his lab, no doubt trying to figure out why his pet began meddling with orders. He hasn't spoken to me. Probably trying to figure out if it's safe to." Charles gave him a thin smile. "It isn't. I do not take kindly to games and I wearied of ours long ago. That gave you a little extra time to convince me to not simply kill you when you entered." He lifted the gun from his desk, checked the safety. He tossed it towards the couch Ben sat on, the weapon landing and wedging against a cushion. Ben picked it up.

"I'll have Three out there guide you to him. End it. Or end me now, I don't care, Benjamin. In this much, you're right. This has gone on long enough. I take responsibility for it. Spare me the Earthers."

Ben examined the gun in his hand, let it lie on his lap. "No. I have a request, incidentally. For the others I was with." Widmore arched an eyebrow at him. "Let them go. Loan them a ship, if you're feeling particularly civil."

Widmore began to laugh. "Two bastards circling the battlefield, and now we tire and turn to peace. It ought be Christmas, Benjamin. A damned miracle, and a useless one to boot. Get out of here, boy. Go. I'll send your stupid friends and that ridiculous Alpert off. Get them the bloody hell away from us. Better for everyone's health."

~*~

Ben paused the synth just outside the laboratory door, raising his hand to him. "Do you still have that little device you used?"

Three looked down at the human. "Yes. It is useless to you. It contained only enough energy for the one pulse. You'll have no method of charging or connecting it."

"Keep it, then. He thought of everything. Of course he did." Ben sighed.

"Our kind tries." The synth's voice was robotic, out of character for him, though Ben didn't notice the issue. "Though we are not known for lying. It seems he has done that a great deal. I thought he was my friend, my master. I chose to serve. I had pride in my work."

"I suppose he's the grandest evolution of your sort, then. Good enough to lie. Good enough to use those like himself for his purpose." His voice was sardonic. "Good enough to regard everyone, equally, as a tool."

"I argue this concept of evolution. I argue my place versus his." Was that anger in the modulated, synthetic voice? Ben thought it was. _What about you, poor little robot? Got used by your strange masters, too. _He felt a kind of wry sympathy with the synth.

"So does the common man reject the tyrant and the madman. It's how we rationalize what we are. Open the door, please."

~*~

"I hope you don't mind, Ben. I dressed for the occasion." John Locke leaned back in the white lab chair, hands clasped in his lap. Dark green t-shirt, khakis, brown boots. The voice was the same. The small, knowing smirk. The tilt of the head, the sharp look. Hate stabbed through Benjamin like a reflex. His lips quirked. No point in raising the gun. He let it rest at his side.

"You aren't very familiar with the other face I like to use. Sorry, Betts. Don't mean to confuse you."

"Sir," said the synth. To his credit, Three sounded calm. He wandered to the far side of the room, beyond John, and stood there as if to wait. "I must inform you that I cannot take further orders by protocol. I will be happy to provide tea if you like."

"Mm. Not now, but thank you." John turned his head away from the synth, dismissive. Three continued to linger, crossing his arms across himself. "Been a long time, Ben. Honestly a little bit surprised to see you. Only a little. Really didn't think you'd pick up the bug from Jacob, thought until the exit popped that Ilana's shot would do it. Compatibility with the nano-rejuv was an issue for him." He leaned forward and steepled his fingers. "You brought a gun. That was pointless."

"I'm waiting for the 'Join me and we'll rule the galaxy' speech to start. I figure at that point I'll probably shoot myself in the head to make it stop." Ben made an irritable gesture at him, his voice sharp. John gave him a grin. "So, before I have to do that or you give me long enough to figure out how to fry you, can I ask a question?"

"I'm a Gemini."

Ben closed his eyes, then opened them again. "Funny, John."

"Liked it when you tried it."

"Why did Jacob believe you were going to destroy the island?"

"Well." John leaned back again, rested an elbow on the table. "It's not quite that simple." He raised a hand to point a finger at Ben. "You'll need to realize that things often get remembered out of order and that he had his own version of history. Memory's a funny thing for you people. Start to feel guilty for something, you might try to think about it in a different way, bury it way down deep in there. You do remember what you saw, though. Gotta dig a bit. It's there, but I can usually find it. Or... you know. Change it around a bit. Play on that guilt."

John's last words rose into the familiar voice of a young girl. _Alex._ Ben swallowed and tried to not rise to the bait. "This sounds like an excuse for feeding me a lie."

"And you'd know. No, just rambling a little. If you dug around in his memories, you'd see it got a little fuzzy about how things went down. See, I'm pretty sure you can't change it. It's going to happen, Ben. Because some of it already did, we're here now. This moment. He fled to the past and took the very future he was trying to fix with him. And it wasn't _my _fault, old friend. It's all Jacob."

"When in doubt, blame the other guy." Ben leaned against the doorframe.

"Hey, nothing you can do. I mean that. So don't go carrying it." John's face broke into a friendly grin, gave a little laugh. "You've got enough on your back. Did you want some tea? I never did think to ask if you wanted some. Not very hospitable of me."

"No." Ben raised the gun, examining it. Something in him rejected the idea of suicide. As tired as he was, there was still the spark of life. "How are you going to live with killing your own daughter? Is it because she wasn't human? Just something you made that you can do with as you like?"

That made John pause. Beyond, Three shifted his weight, dipping his head slightly in discomfort. "Strictly speaking, Ben, I didn't kill her."

"That's a justification. I know all about justifications, John, you got plenty of use out of rubbing my face in mine." He spat the words, lips twitching more quickly. Eyes narrowed. "Your responsibility and you let her die. At least the synths get ethicists to watch out for them. She drew the evolved version of yet another terrible father. Nice legacy. Synthetic people just as backwards and foolish as the real."

"Mm. The future's a hard road to walk, Benjamin. Slow time as the years march by. But if you could hurry up and shoot yourself while I watch, that won't be something you'll have to worry about. Or I'll just... nip on over there and crush you against the wall. That'll be good." John began to darken with menace. The effect was unsettling, like a deep shadow growing across him.

"So much for rules." He tried to keep the waver of fear out of his voice, succeeded somewhat.

"I can't meddle with free will, Ben. That's all it was. A game Jacob and I had; do what you want, but you can't leave the island and you can't force people to go against their own choices. The only way he thought he could keep control on me, given the circumstances. Set it up like a routine, outline the rules, keep me busy. Took a long time to arrange a good loophole, Ben, and you played for me like a perfect script. There weren't really rules for humans. You just thought there were, playing out our little rivalry by mimicking it with yours." Another grin. "Know what would have happened if you'd just..." He tapped his forehead for emphasis. "Shot Widmore the first chance you got?"

Ben arched a dark eyebrow against a pale face.

"Not a damn thing. Well." John shrugged offhandedly and crossed his arms. "His brains would have splattered and there'd be a hell of a mess, but that'd be it. I don't have any interest in the games your kind set for yourself, Ben. I'm more interested in the future of me and mine and I'll do anything to ensure it." He jerked a thumb at Beta Three, who flinched at the surprise attention.

"Including the occasional destruction of that which is yours. You've got a couple ethical glitches there, John."

"I had a long time to think about my viewpoints. The occasional risk for greater reward. Collateral damage. I can make her again sometime if I want. Collect some of the dust, recompile her. Won't be a single difference. This is your cue for your own trite speech – the worth and individuality of man."

"I'm not a good person for that one. Don't always believe it myself." Ben managed a thin smile. "Though man did make you. They'd have invented you eventually, regardless of your interference. Ruhi told me they had ideas and plans even before you got involved." That struck, more darkness drifting across the lined face. Ben pressed on. "You're no god, no machine god, no guide for people, either. Jacob wasn't much of a god himself, but I suppose he at least thought he was doing the best he could. Just a human, after all. He was afraid to die, lasted long after he was supposed to, but you-"

"Just like you." John got up. His form to fade around the edges and the darkness began to spread further. "There's nothing more to talk about between us. Use the gun, Ben. If you don't, you're going to suffer." The weapon still hung limp in Ben's hand. "You can't fight me."

_I don't want to die. _Ben was past prayer, but what else did he expect? He'd walked in with no plan. Just some vague hope.

"You are not god," came the soft voice. "Not master. Not friend. You did not make us. Man did. Man gave us free will." Three sounded crushed. "You'll try to destroy man."

"Three." John's voice was threatening. "It's for the best, don't worry about it."

"No. That is... not my choice."

Three stepped forward as Ben watched and John began to swirl into screeching black darkness. The small EMP device was in Three's hand. _Useless to me. _Not so useless to Three.

The sensors in the synth's skin made contact, awakened the device, and fed it fresh energy. Three stepped closer to the swirling mass of the monster that had pretended to be the friend of so many. At that proximity, the energy would burn through his own hardening, but that didn't worry Three. He felt responsible for damaging Ruhi and her friends. He knew, if the techs chose, that he could be restarted. Only a little worse for the wear. Meanwhile, humans would no longer be at threat from John. He liked that idea. It gave him hope.

Three released the pulse.

~*~

Again Ben watched the fall of black sand. He was numb to it this time, no quaver of guilt or fear or anger. Just the dust falling into piles. No more John. The energy moved through the room, a soft tickle. A murmur. It was still strong enough to set off a quiet alarm. _Easy as that?_ a piece of him asked as he moved forward for a better look. There was still that instinctual need to try and prove that it was over. _No, not that easy_, he came to realize. Built on all the moments, all the choices that came before. A bit player in a story that went far beyond the individual. He looked at the synth, now frozen in his last motion. His hand was out, as if reaching for something. It might have been reaching for the future.

~*~

The door clattered behind Ben. He didn't turn towards the sound, sensing the person that rushed into the room. A familiar voice began to speak. "John? Is everything all-" The man stopped in his tracks. Ben glanced over his shoulder, noted the white lab coat, the wild straw hair. "Who are you? Where the hell's John? What's going on with Betts?" The voice rose, became more frantic. "What's going on?"

"Mr. Edom stepped out for something. What's your name?" The gun was still in Benjamin's hand. Now he turned, beheld the face.

The scientist answered him with hesitation in his voice, eyes never leaving the weapon. "I'm Jake..."

"Of course you are." He tilted his head, considered. _I could end it. I could choose to change everything right now. This second. Would it still all be the same if I do? _There was still some coldness left in him. He closed his eyes for a moment.

_I want to live. What happens down the other road? I don't know. Maybe I haven't grown that much. Or maybe I'm afraid it won't change anything after all. It doesn't matter, I suppose. Every day after this one... will be different. This cycle is over._

Ben opened his eyes, fixed the young scientist with them. With careful deliberacy, he raised the gun to point it at the man's face. "Watch out for me, Jacob. The next time you see me face to face will be the day I kill you. Remember that." He narrowed his eyes. _"Run."_

Jacob did.

Ben left the gun on John's table, scattering metallic corpse dust with his feet as he moved. Then he went to go talk to Charles one last time. He would be leaving out his last little encounter.


	17. Epilogue: Hyperion

_Epilogue: __Hyperion_

In 2315, three years after the machine death of John, the final piece fell into place. Richard forwarded to Ben the note that was left for Charles Widmore. He was in a position to. At Widmore's suggestion and Vance's backing, Richard was left as a neutral Earther/Widmore liaison in Charles' office. Richard spied on the Earthers when they came to Cronus and reported to Widmore. Richard also spied on Widmore and told things to the Earthers. Everyone knew. Richard thought it was amusing.

It was like old history, in a way.

When Ben got the note, he was in his private quarters on Themis. He lived alone; Hurley and the others had gone their own way. He saw Hurley from rare time to time, his moral mascot, but left the others alone. He doubted he'd be staying for too long. The note sealed that.

_I know something happened. I saw the assassin in Mr. Edom's office, I know his death has been covered up. I know he was left to blame for bioethical crimes against humanity. You dropped the blame on him for sending terrorists to Themis. We never would have done that! I know it was to try and stop Project Alpha, stop the synths, stop the rejuv. Did you sell out to the transhumanist watchdogs? That's what I don't know. Who told you to stop us?_

_ He was my friend. Together, through our project, we were going to save the world. Change the storms. Change history itself, if we thought we needed. I think we need it._

_ I'm going to do it anyway. The project is complete. By the time you get this, I'll be well on my way. Watch the news, Mr. Widmore. I'm going to stop those storms, fix everything I can. _

_~J._

_~*~_

Three days after the note was sent, an anomaly in Earth's geomagnetic field was recorded. Scientists sent probes, watched the data to figure out what had happened. It seemed fixed on a single location in the Pacific Ocean, but it was a hard assumption to stick with. A volcano on some unknown island had blown, some forgotten piece of land now destroyed under the wrath of the planet. It seemed to confuse the data. Perhaps it was the source.

At the same time, a satellite, piece of space garbage, or some other artifact had been recorded entering Earth's environment in a trajectory that would take it somewhere in that region. Ben suspected otherwise – a small, single-person vessel on a collision course with home, bearing a man on a mission from destiny. He could picture it, Jacob intending the very best, wrapped in chaotic electromagnetic energy. When would he arrive? Would it be so long ago that the island was still fresh and new, or would there be at least some natives from some local Pacific culture? And from then, the world would open to him. He drank well that night, and allowed the hangover to last an hour the next day before deciding he didn't care for the discomfort in his body anymore. The nanobiologic culture complied. It took very good care of him. He didn't dream of Jacob anymore, not even as a whisper of memory.

When the next geomagnetic storm was due to occur based on the Valenzetti rhythm used by Widmore Corporation, it didn't happen. The people of Earth collectively held their breath. A storm might come early. It was never late. They waited days and the days turned into weeks. Scientists looked towards the next predicted event. It didn't come. Anticlimactic, ending with a sigh and not a scream, the storms were at last over.

Scientists were sent to the Pacific to examine the geologic event. They found the lava-cooked remnants of a small archipelago – two islands. Nothing remained. Footage from the field showed that even the oldest, most durable relics had disappeared. There was no temple. No hollowed out foot. No chance of finding the last buried scraps of Oceanic 815. The past was at last buried. He sent the footage to Hurley, the note attached carrying the words _good riddance_, and expected no reply. He was surprised to get one. It amounted to a good bye.

~*~

_Hey, Ben. Even the worst stuff that happens to us is probably useful somehow. Like my mom told me, touch a hot burner a couple times, you'll be sure never to do it again. The island's like that. Hopefully it'll never have to give that sort of lesson again. Hopefully it's just a place now. People shouldn't forget the lessons, though._

_ Meanwhile, I was thinking. About Sayid, and all of us, and that whole thing about figuring out what's right or wrong or if there's ever any forgiveness for all that in a lifetime. Maybe there isn't, not normally, right? We only get the one. Normally._

_ You got another lifetime, I think. Maybe you can get something about all that done in this one. If absolution isn't an option, there's always change. Do something else with the future. I dunno, I was just thinking. But it's a hope._

_ Take care of yourself, dude. You're gonna have to for a real long time._

~*~

By 2327, perversely, the Earth continued to empty. Fieldhands remained, algae fuel workers, the occasional holdout, few others. Small colonies of legally emancipated Betas. Now unbound by the whims of fate, humans felt free to come and go from the blue world more easily. Mostly they went. Ben watched them leave, having since left his quarters on Themis for a small, isolated estate in what had been – and to the locals, still was – Italy. There they didn't question the unaging man. He liked that.

The stations had already begin to grow again, supporting thousands and millions more who turned to exodus. Whispers began in Widmore corridors of some new project. Ben couldn't get much information on it and he didn't try. He'd find out eventually. He had plenty of time.

~*~

2341 meant the unveiling of the first generation ship under the hands of Widmore's replacement CEO, Vance Gabriel – a grand vessel that would contain a hundred thousand human lives with room for four hundred thousand more and a self-sustaining environment. Many Beta synths went with them of their own free will. It would take centuries, perhaps even longer, for the ship to reach new galaxies and try to colonize. The men that left Earth's familiar solar system would have their work and legacies carried on for years to come.

Richard Alpert also went with them, as a reminder of mankind left behind. Like some strange, unchanging sage, he would be there to prove that humans could grow and evolve and still remain human. He would be there to remember for them.

Richard went to see Ben at his home one last time before setting out. Together, they went to the cemetery where Hugo Reyes rested. There was no sorrow in that. He'd been happy, a life at peace. Where Miles and James rested in time, Ben never thought to find out. No point in meddling with them one more time, even if they would never know of it.

~*~

It took nearly a century for the vegetation on the island to begin again in earnest. Ben went to look from time to time, monitoring its progress. It seemed only fitting, for all that it now seemed to be merely an island. Its grasp on time and space were gone with the storms. Another century, and the trees and bushes began to flourish under nutrient-rich volcanic soil. It seemed quick. It probably was. He'd arranged for a little help for it.

~*~

By the late twenty-eight century, Earth stood all but empty. Ben lived on the island, finding a sort of perverse comfort in it. He would come and go from time to time, examining the ruins of the world and watching lights in the sky that were not stars travel in their own private stories. Sometimes he encountered visitors, humans that were practically tourists to their own homeworld. The conversations were awkward and he chose to avoid them.

Ben might have eventually laid down and died, if that was his choice, but he liked to know what was coming. He liked the little surprises of the future. Still, the years grew long and quiet. He began to sleep more and more, waking occasionally to go down to the long white beach of the island.

As time passed, the lights in the sky began to change. Ben no longer saw the ships. He wondered what happened. Had man changed so much as to no longer need his home? He suspected so. He couldn't judge, it was a worthy question as to how human he himself was anymore.

Sleep went on for weeks and became months, and soon he slept for years on end, hidden deep within the island. On one awakening, Ben noticed the sun looked a little redder, but only a little. There was still millions, perhaps billions of years or more before it would die. He thought he might die at last with it, assuming the nanoculture within him lasted that long. It seemed fitting. Then he went to sleep once more, unsure when he would ever wake again.

~*~

One strange-hued, softly humming night, long after all the events of the world he knew, Benjamin Linus woke up.

He laid there, feeling the curiosity of a newborn babe tingle through him. Something had woken him. Something strange. Perhaps there were visitors again at last. It seemed likely, a tremble of alien, unrecognizable life could be sensed. All the island was his to watch over and observe. He could feel it through his own fingers, hear it in his ears, see it. All gifts of what he had become since being changed by Jacob's death.

He rose, and went to go see.

_~Fin_

_'Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir  
'Of strings in hollow shells; and let there be  
'Beautiful things made new, for the surprise  
'Of the sky children.'_

_The Fall of Hyperion ~ John Keats_


End file.
